


When Scott Met Annie

by magnetocerebro



Series: The 714 Marvel Universe [3]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: And we all know it, F/M, I'm just sorry i gotta beat him down a little to get him there oops, i just want him to settle down and have a NORMAL FAMILY, is that so hard?, look the real otp here is scott/happiness okay?, that's all he really wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2018-10-24 09:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetocerebro/pseuds/magnetocerebro
Summary: Scott Summers hates who he's become. He's made so many mistakes, and he doesn't think he can be forgiven for many of them.But the one thing he thinks he can do right, the one good decision he can make for himself, is to stop the cycle of bad decisions, get out from under the weight of the hole he's dug for himself, and leave.Only... he's never left anything or anyone before. Sure, others have left him, but Scott? Leaving?He doesn't even know where to start.As Scott makes his way toward Alaska, wandering through Canada on the way there, he confronts not only his inner demons put some pretty darn real ones as well.But he'll also meet the Hale family, a group of displaced Southern belles and their family who welcome Scott into their homes and treat him just like they would anyone else. It's an actual, honest-to-Galactus chance to start over, and Scott's going to take it.(Technically, this fic is a side fic for the 714 universe, since Annie Hale is the OC we created for him there, but it takes place WAY before that entire story, so it's really it's own standalone thing. You can read it separately... and then read the 714 if you want :D)





	1. Farewell to Frost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanuckleheadCowgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanuckleheadCowgirl/gifts).



> Hello, yes, I know. Yet another project when I should be working on other things. Fight me, I'm pretty excited about this one :P
> 
> So as you may know, I'm a HUGE fan of Scott Summers, but not a huge fan of the way he has been portrayed by Marvel lately. It seems like they're just trying to tear him down as much as possible. To that end, my friend Canucklehead Cowgirl and I created our own Marvel universe (the 714) in which we're fixing a lot of the stupid that is Marvel right now.
> 
> Technically, this story is part of that universe, though you could read it on your own and be fine. The whole premise is when Scott meets Annie, the woman he's married to in the 714 Universe. In that main storyline, we just introduced her as his fiance, but we didn't really bridge the gap between when Scott stopped being with Emma Frost and that faction of X-Men and when he met and fell in love with her. So really, this is new ground, so you need ZERO background in the 714 to read it. All of it takes place before that universe starts up in the main line anyway.
> 
> (Seriously. X-Men are so complicated.)
> 
> So, I present to you: A love story for Scott Summers that does not involve a Phoenix or a manipulative blonde psycho- I mean telepath. *cough cough* Well... aside from this first chapter. But you know... Sorry, but Scott's at a low point to start this off. I'll make sure he's happy by the end, I promise.
> 
> And as always, thanks to CC for reading through this and giving comments and suggestions and little tweaks where needed. :)

 

 

* * *

"You're not leaving."

It wasn't a question, and the way Emma said it honestly just had Scott madder. It was more of a command than anything like a please or a question. But then, that was how it always went. She _told_ him how it was going to be — and he was tired of listening.

He didn't turn her way fully as he gestured to the bag slung over his shoulder with one eyebrow raised over the top of his ruby quartz glasses. "Yeah, I am."

She looked absolutely livid, and he recognized the expression from so many years of watching her look down her nose at so many other people — even him. It was the anger, the feeling that she had been wronged because _she_ didn't get what _she_ wanted. Forget the fact that he had stopped feeling good about what they were trying to do, forget that he felt _ashamed_ every time he watched the news broadcasts, forget that every time he got a second to think — to _really_ think — he knew he'd screwed up, betrayed everything he was supposed to stand for.

But never mind any of that. Emma Frost wanted what she wanted — and what she wanted was to run this faction of X-Men with Scott.

She shifted the way she was standing, her eyes still narrowed but her stance a little more… open. It was a trick she'd pulled on him enough times that he knew what it was, and if he'd been in a little more of a forgiving mood, it might even have worked. There was no denying that Emma was attractive. He couldn't deny it, not when she _knew_ it. She knew exactly what he liked about her, too, and on more occasions than he could count, she would do exactly this — an open invitation.

A distraction.

"Are you going to stop me?" he asked, still not fully turned her way, and she dropped her shoulders, annoyance flashing in her eyes when she saw that he wasn't going to give her the kind of attention she wanted. He could feel her pricking at the corners of his mind already, since her attempt to pull his gaze on her own clearly needed a little extra _help_.

She recoiled her telepathic touch from his mind when she felt the raw anger there. He wasn't going to hide it; he hated when she did this, when she pressed into his mind without asking, when she tried to _make_ him fall at her feet. He'd had enough, and he was done letting her get away with it.

She met his gaze, and he honestly wasn't sure how much of the hurt he saw there was an act. He never knew. It was impossible to tell. She _knew_ he couldn't stand to see her hurt — at least, that had been the case for so long that she had long ago learned to take advantage of it. But if she expected him to come rushing to her, hold her in his arms and promise he wouldn't go — like he'd done every other time before — she didn't understand at all.

He was _done_.

He glared her way once more before he finally turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him as he went.

_Where will you go?_

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He'd been waiting for that. He didn't know what took her so long — if it was just the shock that her usual tricks weren't working or if she thought she'd wait until he was a little less angry. But he could hear it all the way through her telepathic message: the accusation. The sneer she tried to hide but never could, not entirely.

 _That's none of your business_ , he told her, his hands in fists at his side as he stalked toward the front door, past a few X-Men who were at least smart enough to stay out of the way of any argument between Scott and Emma. There had been plenty lately. He was so _done_ with all of it.

 _They won't take you back,_ she projected out to him.

And there it was.

He knew she was probably right. He couldn't take back any of what he'd done, the stupidity that had split his friends — his family — apart. He couldn't even blame it entirely on her, no matter how badly he wanted to. He couldn't blame the Phoenix, couldn't blame anything but himself and his own pig-headed stupidity. If he went back to Westchester, he wouldn't be surprised at all if the only thing waiting for him there was a fight.

But Westchester was more home than this place was.

 _Doesn't matter,_ he projected back to her, pulling on his coat on the way out the door. _I'm not staying here._

Her response wasn't much in the way of words — it was more a feeling that filled his mind as he got into his car. Rage, betrayal, hurt, disbelief. It all washed over him at once and actually staggered him, and he had to grip the steering wheel to keep himself upright until it passed. "Emma," he all but growled under his breath. "Stop this."

It took a moment, but the feeling finally lifted, and in its place was this simple message: _You'll be back._

_No, I won't._

He floored it out of the driveway as soon as he was turned around, driving with the top down despite the chill in the air — because the chill would keep him a little more awake and aware. He simply didn't trust Emma not to try to pull something, and while telepathic defenses were good to have, sometimes, it was just as helpful to have something physical and bracing to counteract the mental penetration.

He made the drive down to Westchester in, surprisingly, relative quiet. He listened to the radio the whole way down and even stopped to grab a bite to eat, and there still wasn't nearly the expected pushback. There was the residual anger, betrayal, hurt — and all of that weighed heavily on him. But he'd tried to leave before — it had never been this easy.

He was honestly a little suspicious of the whole thing, but all the same, he made it to Westchester without anything major in his way… and found himself staring at the doorknocker to the mansion's front door.

Any time before, Scott wouldn't have hesitated. He'd always been welcome here — his whole life, this was the closest thing to 'home' he had. And now… now his own stupidity, his own ego and pride left him standing there on the doorstep feeling like a stray begging for scraps.

He very nearly turned around, his cheeks burning with shame and guilt. He had killed the man whose dream built this school. He didn't deserve to be there.

But he knocked anyway, halfway holding his breath, just waiting.

There was a part of him that still expected it to be Logan that opened the door, though he didn't know why. Logan was gone, and there was no way to change that. But it would be fitting, after everything he'd done, if that short, angry, no-holds-barred man was the one to open the door and chew him up and down for everything he'd done.

Instead, it was Storm at the door, and her lips parted in surprise when she saw him standing there, hesitating on the doorstep. Then, suddenly, a spark of anger caught just behind her eyes, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you doing here?"

It felt like a slap in the face to hear that tone from Storm, and he took a full three seconds to recover enough to clear his throat. "Ororo," he said, trying for a reasonable tone, "I'm not here to cause trouble."

"Then why _are_ you here?" she asked, still with that same tone, one eyebrow raised.

He swallowed and nodded. He deserved this kind of treatment, and he knew it. "I … left," he said, haltingly, suddenly unable to put to words all the many, many reasons he just wanted to be _done_ , wanted to start over, come _home_.

"And came here," Storm finished for him. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she looked him over, and it didn't look like she was going to move from her spot in the doorway.

"Yeah." He felt his mouth go dry as he saw the way she was standing. He'd hurt her — it was written all over her face and her body language. "Listen, Ororo—"

"Scott, some of us have schools to run," Storm said abruptly, still watching him through narrowed eyes.

"Right." He straightened up and stiffened, recognizing the dismissal for what it was. And if Storm, out of everyone else in the mansion, was still that mad at him… He really didn't have a prayer with anyone else inside.

He walked back down the long driveway, his hands in fists at his sides and his jaw tightly clenched. He absolutely should have seen this coming. What had he been _thinking_ , coming to the mansion? As if anyone there could ever trust him again, as if he _deserved_ ….

He didn't bother turning back to glance Storm's way, already knowing that she had closed the door, and he climbed back into his car, driving into town before he pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the nearest hotel and leaned forward, his forehead resting against the steering wheel of the car.

It wasn't like he exactly had a backup plan. He had hoped, maybe a little naively, that he could just… go back. Now, it was abundantly clear that his own stupidity, his own reckless choices, had ruined that for him. And he had no one to blame but himself.

He sat there for a moment before he cleared his throat and straightened up. Enough feeling sorry for himself. So he couldn't go to the mansion — he had other options, surely. He just had to sit down and think it through.

He checked into his room for the night and then grabbed a booth at the hotel restaurant, sketching out a few ideas on a napkin while he waited for his order… or at least, that was the plan. He probably would have done that… if he had ideas.

It was a body blow — the mansion had really been his first and only choice. The school, the students, the X-Men… Scott honestly wasn't sure who he was without them.

"Hey, don't I know you?"

Scott looked up in surprise when the waiter paused at his table. It wasn't the waiter who was assigned to serve that table, but he had stopped all the same, his eyes narrowed as he looked Scott over. Scott already recognized the look — he'd seen it a thousand times over on a hundred other faces.

"I used to live here," Scott offered. "Scott Summers," he said, extending his hand. He wasn't going to shy away from who he was — he'd take whatever the consequences were of his own choices, and if this guy wanted to get mad at him about it, Scott at least wanted to know what he had to say, so he could gauge whether it was the justified kind of anger… or just the usual anti-mutant nonsense that came with being a high-profile X-Man.

The waiter glared at him hard and didn't take the outstretched hand. Slowly, his lips curled back into a sneer before he wordlessly stalked away, and Scott let his shoulders slump as he let out a sigh. He could already see where this was going to go.

By the time the waiter returned with the manager, Scott was half prepared for an honest fight, already standing and on his way out the door anyway, since he knew what was coming.

"You've got no business in my establishment," the manager sneered his way, following Scott even as he was already leaving.

"There's no need to cause a scene—"

"If I ever see your face in here again…!"

Scott let out a long and weary sigh. "You won't," he promised with his hand on the doorknob.

"Good."

Scott frowned but held his tongue. He was too tired to put up with any of this, but even as he left the restaurant, he had to wonder if things were this bad for the kids up at Xavier's Institute — or if it was just him. If it was just him, that was his own fault — but if it was a problem for the others, he'd like to help if he could.

If they'd let him.

He passed a hand through his hair as he headed back to the hotel. He figured he would just order some room service and look through the local news archives while he ate. If this was a continuing problem in Westchester, he wanted to know about it, even if the X-Men didn't want his help.

But when Scott got to his room, he stopped short in the doorway, shocked and angry when he saw the state of things.

The whole place was absolutely trashed — furniture overturned, stuffing torn out of the pillows, obscenities spray-painted on the walls, the works.

He was just started to get mad when he saw that underneath one particularly graphic bit of graffiti — the gist of which was that he should 'go home' along with a few other suggestions for what he could do with himself — was a newspaper article tacked to the wall with a kitchen butcher knife. He could see his own picture there already, and after a few steps forward, he saw the date, and the headline.

_Professor…_

He stopped cold, staring at the article about Charles Xavier's death… There were a lot of things that he _could_ fix, that he wanted to fix, but _that_ ….

He backed out of the room slowly, his mouth dry and his heart pounding in his ears. He ended up having to pay the hotel for the damages — typical — but it was hard to argue when he felt the way he did. It wasn't just the usual ant-mutant crap. These people, in the place he'd always considered home — they hated _him_. Specifically. Personally.

He couldn't come back.

When he climbed into his car in the parking lot, he rested both hands on the wheel but didn't start it, just staring for a long moment as he tried to work out his next move. He didn't actually have one, he quickly realized — but the hotel manager had warned him to leave the premises, so he ended up driving aimlessly out of Westchester.

He drove through somewhere to eat — at least he'd get _something_ that way — and kept going west, back the direction he'd come. It wasn't that he was necessarily planning to go _back_ ; there was just more road that way — the other way was the beach if he kept going.

By the time he realized that he was driving up to the X-Men headquarters that he had literally just left, it was an ungodly hour of the night, and he was _tired_. Not physically, but emotionally as well, his ears ringing with the accusations, said and unsaid, that had faced him when he tried to go home. Maybe it was the distraction of the guilt, maybe it was how late it was, maybe it was just that he didn't think there _was_ any other place that would take him in and let him keep fighting the good fight…

He honestly didn't know. Maybe it was some combination of all those things that had his guard down. But he was _sure_ he hadn't meant to drive right back to the place he'd just left. He just… wasn't sure how much Emma had pulled him back — he could feel her presence back in his mind like a rush of cool water — and how much was simply him going back to the only thing left.

He stared at the house for a long moment, even though he could feel Emma's insistent pull — _You're exhausted; come inside_ — as he took his time sitting in his car, his forehead resting against the steering wheel.

He'd _meant_ to go back home, meant to try to fix what he could….

He must have been out there too long, because it looked like Emma had gotten impatient waiting. She came out to the driveway in white silk that clung to her when she moved and let out a long and understanding sort of sigh when she saw him. "I did try to warn you," she said gently.

"I really don't want to hear it right now, Emma," he grumbled.

"Of course not," she agreed with a little smirk as she leaned over the car door, the silk falling off of her shoulders as she did so. "Come inside — you've been out all night."

Honestly, he wanted to stay where he was and be miserable for a little while longer — he deserved to feel guilty — but he couldn't do that now that Emma was there anyway, so he let out a sigh and climbed out of the car as Emma seized hold of his arm and laid her head on his shoulder, filling his mind with, _I'm sorry; they just don't understand._

He shook his head lightly but didn't project back what he was thinking, though he was sure she knew it all the same. He was sure everyone back in Westchester understood just fine.

When they got back to their room, the evidence of everything he'd rifled through and packed up was neat and tidy and nowhere to be found. Scott turned Emma's way to tell her something — what, he wasn't sure, but he still had half a mind to leave in the morning all the same — but didn't get there at all. Instead, she had hooked one hand around his neck to pull him into a kiss, the other hand finding his to guide him on where to put his hands on her waist.

 _Talk later, darling_ , she told him as she caught her teeth on his bottom lip and pressed closer, and he was just too tired to tell her 'no.'

* * *

Scott slept in a little later than he usually did the next morning, simply because he was tired, but he was still up earlier than most of the rest of the crew. Emma was still asleep, her head on his chest and one arm around him as she slept soundly on.

He watched her for a moment, trying to figure out how he'd ended up back here. How he _always_ ended up back here.

He couldn't answer that question, though — he never could — and finally, he just let out a long sigh and very gently got out from underneath her. She protested slightly, a little moan of displeasure when the bed was suddenly empty, but she didn't wake up the rest of the way and went back to sleep soon enough.

He picked up the discarded clothes strewn around the room to toss them in the laundry and stepped into the shower, operating mostly on routine more than anything else. When he came out again, Emma was a little more awake and wearing a pleased sort of smile as she watched him, the towel folded around his waist, looking through the bag he had packed the night before for a fresh shirt and jeans.

_So, did the drive clear your head?_

He turned her way with one eyebrow raised over the top of the glasses. "Emma."

She grinned at him, knowing exactly what the look was for as she shifted so that she was propped up with her elbows at the end of the bed, still watching him with that same little smile. "Really, darling, there's nothing wrong with needing to get out of the house every once in a while. There's no need to be so _dramatic_ about it."

"That's not…" He trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Never mind. I'm going down for coffee — do you want anything?"

She smiled easily at him as she finally pulled herself out of the bed, all silks as the sheets fell off of her and she pulled on a long, white robe. He could feel the stop in his throat when she did things like that, and it only made her smile that much wider. "Mmm, no," she said as she slipped behind him, long arms wrapping around his for a moment before she kissed his shoulder. "Maybe later."

He turned toward her, but already she'd moved on to slip out of the robe and into the shower, and he shook his head. He still wasn't sure he'd found his footing, but at least here, he wasn't getting run out of town. He could take a little while to come up with a different plan, some way to just… start over. He got dressed quickly and headed down to start the coffee, still tired out from the previous night.

He wasn't entirely sure when he had decided it was time to leave. Maybe it was when he realized people were no longer happy to see him — not just the other X-Men but civilians. Maybe it was his own younger self doing so well with the other heroes out there and reminding him why he'd gotten into this in the first place. Maybe it was just something that had been building until he couldn't ignore it.

Maybe it was Emma.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was sure that it was Emma. The way she ran things… and _she_ ran things, not him; he wasn't going to fool himself in that regard anymore… it had finally gotten to him. Maybe it was one too many orders. One too many intrusions into his mind and everyone else's. He was just tired of it — and he was sure he could be doing _so much more_ somewhere else. Not with Emma, not with Magneto, just… somewhere else. He was still trying to figure it out, especially since it had just never occurred to him that he could just… _leave_.

_And go where?_

That was the real problem, and he knew it. Too many bridges burned. He wasn't going to shy away from being recognized, but if every place was going to be like Westchester…

He sighed heavily as he found a seat at the table, grabbing his laptop from the nearby desk so he could get a little housekeeping done while he waited for the coffee to finish. Balance the checkbook… pay off the credit cards… he knew there was going to be a big charge from the hotel after last night…

He frowned when he pulled up the banking website and checked it with the spreadsheet. He should have been down a fair amount of money from the hotel, but… the numbers weren't quite right. He remembered the charge for the destruction to the room alone being $1653. But here, it was reading $133 — just the charge for the room.

 _Maybe it hasn't posted yet._ He put his cell phone in the crook of his shoulder as he got to his feet and got started on some eggs for breakfast — he could never sit still through a phone call when he could be getting other things done while he was on hold, after all. When he finally got through to the hotel manager, he was surprised when there was no angry response to "This is Scott Summers" as he tried to explain the problem. "I was just balancing my account and saw that the charges from last night haven't posted," he said politely.

He could hear the clattering of keys on the other end as he poured the freshly scrambled eggs onto his plate and snagged a couple pieces of toast from the toaster before he sat down and waited for the response.

"There must be some mistake, Mr. Summers," the hotel manager said, still entirely cordial and not at all as angry as he had been the night before. "Our records show that you purchased a room in advance but never checked in or out. The only charge you should have is the charge for the night, since you didn't call ahead to cancel."

Scott paused when he heard it, his lips pressed together and his eyebrows knit together. _Emma_ , he realized, rubbing a spot on his forehead just above his eyes. "Thank you for your time," he told the hotel manager before he hung up — and then blasted the phone for good measure.

 _Emma_ , he thought to himself, already on his way out the door as he grabbed the keys to his car. It was just like her to do something like this, to show him something that never happened. And he was sure if he talked to her about it, if he confronted her with what he knew, she would play it off as simply showing him what _would_ happen, protecting him…

It wasn't, though. What she was doing was not protecting him but hemming him in, keeping him where _she_ wanted him to be. He let out a noise of frustration as he threw the car into reverse and sped out of the driveway, _more_ than ready to put this place in the rearview mirror.

He didn't care where he was going. He didn't _know_ where he would go. Not Westchester — and not just because of what Emma had shown him. If he went there… he wasn't entirely convinced that it would be a warm welcome, true enough, but he was sure that Emma would expect him to go there as well.

He wanted — no — he _needed_ to go somewhere she wouldn't think to show him. Somewhere he could be sure of what was real. So he could be sure of his own choices.

He turned up the radio and turned up the speed and simply pointed his car toward the interstate.


	2. The Leader of Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott has been on his own for a couple of weeks, and it turns out he's really, really bad at not having a plan. Really, really bad at it. So of course, when he's the most lost he's ever been in his life? Guess who comes calling....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning: This chapter and the next involve Mister Sinister, who is creepy beyond all reason and prone to medical experimentation, torture (both physical and mental), and all sorts of horrible, horrible stuff. Sorry in advance.

 

* * *

It had been a couple weeks of driving, and the pattern was starting to feel distressingly predictable for every town that Scott drove through. He could stay for a while before someone recognized him, and then it was either deal with law enforcement or leave.

He really hadn't done himself any favors with his most recent campaign, and no matter how much he wanted to go back, to try for more peaceful coexistence, just that much more reason, to just… _reset_ , there was no denying the fact that he was fighting an uphill battle.

He'd cleaned out his accounts and gotten a burner cell phone so that he couldn't be found, but that pattern wasn't going to last if he didn't have a _plan_.

He had always had a plan.

He ran a hand through his hair as he looked over the map. He'd gone as far as Watson Lake in Canada, and he just seemed to be getting further and further north, not that he was planning to do that either. He was drifting, aimless.

He _hated_ it.

He thought maybe if he could find something a little more stable, someplace he felt comfortable _staying_ he could call up a few people… Kitty was in space, and he wasn't sure about half of the X-Men at the Institute, and he certainly wasn't going to call anyone with Emma, but… there had to be a few people he hadn't alienated.

He didn't know what he'd say. He had a notebook scratched full of possibilities, but none of them were viable. No one would want him leading a team, not after the mess he'd made of things. No one would want him _on_ a team, at this rate.

He just didn't _know_ what to do.

He'd never been this frustrated. Ever since the professor found him, he'd felt like he knew what was right. Knew exactly what he was _supposed_ to do, what was _expected_ of him.

And see where that path had taken him.

He sighed and struck a mark through another couple of cities — the newspapers were reporting some serious anti-mutant sentiment there, and while that was usually something he'd step in… He was honestly starting to feel overwhelmed. No team. No plan. What could he _do_ in the face of all…

He let out a sigh. No, he could do plenty. He was sure it was just the long hours of travel and aimlessness getting to him. Once he found a place to get settled in, to put down roots that lasted longer than a 24-hour motel, he'd be able to get his feet back underneath him.

He scratched through another few notes that he had been making in the edges of his newspaper, his coffee long since cold, when the door chimed, and he looked up to see several policemen walk into the cafe. They didn't sit down to order anything, either, which meant they were there for a reason. And Scott was sure it wasn't anything he'd appreciate.

He left a few bills on the table to pay his tab and slipped out the door, his cap pulled down low over his eyes as he did so. Better to just avoid conflict. For the moment. He was trying not to be the terrorist everyone thought he was, after all. Best to err on the side of caution for at least the next little while.

He thought he saw one of the policemen pause when Scott slipped by, but he made it to his car in the lot without incident, at least. He had just unlocked it when the shadow of someone huge fell over him, and he turned that way completely expecting one of the policemen to have followed him — the big, red-bearded guy that had given him a second glance on passing — only to fall into a huge glare, fists clenched, already grabbing his visor from his glove compartment before he jumped back just in time to avoid the blow that crushed in the door of his car.

He recognized a Marauder when he saw one; he'd had _far_ too much experience with them in the past. And where they were, their master wouldn't be far behind.

Of all the snags he could have run into while he was just trying to figure things out, this was the one he could do without the most.

He turned out of the way of the Marauder's follow-up punch at the same time he pushed his visor onto his face. He blasted the guy back, but that wasn't going to be enough, even as the big man hit the ground. Those guys rarely traveled alone.

Almost on cue, another three Marauders rushed toward him. He'd fought Marauders often enough to know what to do about it — but they were drawing attention. He could see the officers from before starting to pour out of the cafe, weapons drawn.

"Don't—" Scott started to call out before an all-too familiar sound split the air a half-second before a red blast knocked through several officers.

Scott was sure it wasn't an accident that Sinister was using _his_ powers to take the police out.

 _And just when I thought I was starting to get used to laying low,_ he thought as he blasted through a second Marauder hard enough that the guy was unconscious before he even hit the pavement.

That same high-pitched whine split the air, and Scott dove aside to avoid the same fate as the police officers — Sinister hadn't been kind to them at all — and while he avoided taking the blast in the chest, the edge of it caught his shoulder, and he spun with the dive, knees and hands scraping the pavement as he tried to catch himself.

Before he could get to his feet, he could feel the familiar burning, prickling at the edge of his mind a second before it turned into fire. Not like Phoenix fire, which was warm and somehow still felt like Jean even at its worst — this was cold, icy hot flames that wrapped themselves around every nerve until he was gasping.

One of the Marauders grabbed at Scott's arm, and he turned on instinct more than anything else, muscle memory already putting his hand to his visor to blast the guy backward as he pushed himself to his feet, pulling back for a punch that he only got halfway through before he froze in place.

_Damnit._

Scott was turned with the punch he'd meant to throw, so Sinister had to step around the car to get into his line of sight, looking pleased as he shook his head. "What are you doing out _here_ , of all places?" he asked almost delightedly, and while Scott couldn't move, he could feel the sharp point of Sinister's psychic fingerprint trying to pour into his mind.

So he projected: _I'd ask you the same thing, but that would be pointless. The better question is: how long have you been following me?_

Sinister chuckled, low and long, walking a small circle around Scott with a smile firmly in place. "Of course," he said, shaking his head and not bothering to hide his amusement. He stopped and rested his hand on Scott's shoulder as Scott took in every breath through his nose. The paralysis meant he couldn't gasp in his breath, couldn't heave his chest to fill his lungs all the way, and he was already out of breath from the fight before.

"At first, I was surprised to see you without your little… _entourage_ ," Sinister said, his mouth a sneer around that final word. "And then imagine my surprise to find you on nearly a... walkabout." His sneer deepened as if the very idea offended him.

Rather than answer him, Scott simply tried to strengthen his psychic defenses. He wanted Sinister to find him thinking of something else.

 _What, though?_ He didn't have a plan for the next day, much less something to really _focus_ on.

Sinister didn't bother to hide the deep chuckle as he rested his other hand on Scott's shoulder, inches from his ear as he spoke. "You," he said softly, "need a purpose."

If Scott had been able to move, he would have glared and shrugged Sinister's hands off, but as it was, he could only project as much anger as he could without endangering what were admittedly more fragile psychic defenses than usual. This was the worst possible time to have Sinister in his mind.

"You should have just come straight to me, my boy," Sinister said, still in that same delighted tone. "You need a purpose, a mission — someone to give your life meaning again." He chuckled low as he finally released Scott's shoulders and took a step back, nodding to his few remaining Marauders to pull Scott away. "I'm sure I can help you with that."

Scott couldn't move to shrug off the Marauders as they dragged him by the arms back toward a sleek black car, though after they crossed the lot, for just a moment, the paralysis lifted — the way he was positioned would have been difficult to manage getting him _in_ the car.

In a burst of movement, Scott rushed forward, but he ran into one thick arm and then a closed fist that knocked the wind out of him with an _oof_ as the Marauder hit Scott in the stomach, and though Scott managed to kick out hard enough to dislocate the man's knee, that was all he managed before he felt that same fire in his mind. He couldn't catch his breath, and he choked on the scream he forced down before he finally blacked out.

* * *

Scott somehow wasn't surprised that when he woke up again, he was totally restrained, arms locked behind him and ankles shackled, not to mention the fact that he simply couldn't _see_ , not with the heavy _something_ wrapped around his face at the level of his eyes. Knowing Sinister, there was probably ruby quartz inside it to handle the constant optic blasts, but it was lined beyond it… probably lead. He couldn't see a thing.

But on the other hand, if there was a positive side, it was that at least there wasn't the cold metal of an examination table at his back.

 _Yet_.

He tested his strength on the restraints but wasn't surprised to find, quickly, that he couldn't budge them, though his heart was racing as he wracked his brain for something else that he could do. Because unlike so many other times that Sinister had managed to catch him, no one would be looking for him. No one even _knew_ he'd been abducted.

He'd have to do this on his own, somehow.

He twisted and turned, even tried turning up the heat on his optic blasts with a bit of concentration in what was really just a desperate hope that he could break through… he'd done it before, forcing open his visor, but he couldn't _see_ to know if this was a setup he could even force open or if he was trapped behind the ruby quartz all the way around.

When he'd exhausted all his options, Scott finally leaned back. There wasn't a thing he could do — not right now, anyway. But that didn't mean there _wouldn't_ be something he could do. If his situation changed — if Sinister tried to move him… _something_.

And still, even after he'd had plenty of time to try to work his way out and really start to get frustrated, there was no sign of Sinister, which wasn't like him.

Or maybe it was — seeing as that just left Scott alone with his thoughts, and they were none too optimistic at this point. Thoughts of _If I hadn't left_ were followed by _If I hadn't pushed my own team away_ which were followed by a whole lot more _If I hadn't_ kind of thoughts that really only served to remind him that no one. Not one person on the planet. No one was going to be looking for him.

"I have to admit," Sinister's voice rang out at last, and Scott startled slightly before he realized that the man must have been in the room the whole time — he hadn't heard a door open or any footsteps or even a cape rustling. "I thought at first it was a charade — you without your little team. But you really are alone, aren't you, Scott?"

Scott bristled at the tone Sinister was using. It was one he'd heard a dozen times before, one that was filled with false kindness and even pity, which somehow stung worse than anything else. He locked his jaw and didn't say anything, though that just had Sinister chuckling as finally Scott heard the rustle of clothing that meant the man was moving before he felt a hand rest on his shoulder and stiffened at the touch, trying to shrug it off.

But Sinister tightened his grip, fingers digging into Scott's shoulder, and he let out a low chuckle. "I had always hoped you'd find your way back to me on your own," he said with that same pitying, kind tone. "I can help, of course."

"I don't need your help," Scott said through his teeth.

"You don't _want_ my help, and there's a difference," Sinister said, and the next thing Scott knew, there was the fire of a psychic attack, familiar and burning and…

_Wait._

All his breath caught in his chest as he tried to tamp down the panic. _She's not here. She's dead. I'd feel it if she were here_ , he thought desperately even though he could _feel_ the Phoenix fire. It felt like dying, like he would never breathe again — and it felt like Jean at the same time.

That was why he'd never been able to fight it.

He regretted it. There wasn't anything he regretted more, and even though he realized somewhere in the back of his mind that this was Sinister, that _this_ was his attack, that this was a memory — he couldn't stop the cry that rose up inside him as the Phoenix curled its way around him.

The more he had used the power of the Phoenix, the more it burned, the more he loved that it burned. The Phoenix would give him what he wanted — that was its promise — but what he wanted was dead and gone. And yet she wasn't, not in the Phoenix fire. Not in the lingering touches that felt like her fingerprints on his bare skin even when he was in uniform. Not in the heat that filled his mind with so much intensity it was like forging that connection with her all over again, lived in the space of a single second, for minutes and hours and days.

The Phoenix couldn't give him Jean — except that it could. And all he had to do was reach out into the fire and let it burn just that much brighter.

Scott closed his eyes against the memory, though it didn't do him any good. His friends and teammates had promised, again and again, that nothing that had happened was his fault, but they didn't _know_. They didn't know that he'd loved it. That there were moments he missed it.

He _hated_ the Phoenix. But it was somehow more complicated than a simple hatred.

He could have stopped it. He should have stopped it. He should have done more, and instead, he could only watch, helpless _again_ , as the Phoenix found Charles Xavier.

He was never going to forget it. The look on the professor's face. It wasn't anger or betrayal or anything that he deserved — not when he was looking at Scott, anyway. It was almost… resigned. In just that split second, that final moment. No one else had seen it.

In that moment, Professor X had given up on him.

And in that moment — Scott hadn't felt the grief and the anger and the terror and the pain and everything else that would take him later, that would very nearly destroy him. Because in that moment, the Phoenix fire had never burned brighter. It was in his lungs and his blood and his throat and his ribs, in his every cell, breathing Jean into him in a way she had never done when she was alive.

He had known what he was doing. He'd killed the professor, and he hadn't even had the decency to hate himself for it until after he was done. And then it had all come crashing down on him.

He felt his breath coming in shuddering gasps from the comedown of the Phoenix, from the guilt, the horror, the _grief._

_So much grief._

Scott didn't even know if that was his voice or Sinister's in his mind. He couldn't find anything to hang on to as the dams burst wide open and the worst days of his life were laid bare before the man who had haunted him since he was a kid.

The professor had left Scott the school in his will….

 _Couldn't even do that right,_ he thought. Or maybe that was Sinister. He couldn't _tell._

_The school. The team. Jean._

_Everything slips through your fingers the tighter you hold it._ That was Sinister. But Scott recognized the words that he thought to himself, almost a mantra for the past weeks.

_You weren't meant to be a leader._

Scott's eyes were shut as he winced away from the words. They were his.

 _It's not your fault,_ Sinister said in a soothing tone. _You do your best work realizing the dreams of others. You need someone to follow, someone's dream to make your own._ He paused as Scott tried to shut out the memories, and Scott heard outside his mind that Sinister was laughing quietly. _Charles Xavier made you an empty vessel and filled you with his own plans and schemes. How short-sighted. Without him, you have nothing. You_ are _nothing._

The best thing Scott could have done for himself, the best way he could have shielded his mind would have been to shove Sinister's words in his face.

But with what?

Sinister was right. He wasn't the leader of anything. He had betrayed Charles Xavier's vision, killed the professor, led his friends and teammates into every stupid decision he'd made for himself.

He wasn't nothing, though. He was a terrorist, a criminal, the worst kind of traitor to the professor's dream because he had _lived_ it.

He wasn't nothing.

He wasn't.

Sinister was laughing — in Scott's mind, in the room. _I've always said you had potential, Scott. You may not be anything now, but you_ were _, and you_ can _be._

Scott didn't realize he had curled into himself until Sinister was there to force his head back. His hair was matted to his forehead — how long had this been going on? — and his breath rattled when it came in.

 _I'm not nearly so short-sighted as Charles Xavier,_ Sinister said, still somehow laughing. _What a waste of a mind like yours._ He stepped back slightly, and Scott could feel the breath of relief — not only physically, but like the heaviness and heat from the psychic attack was lifting. It wouldn't last; he knew that.

"I know what it is you think I'm offering," Sinister said aloud as Scott got his breath back. It was colder than he remembered it being — or maybe it was just that it had been too hot, the memory of Phoenix fire… He _didn't_ want it back, he had to remind himself again. Always. "But you have to know I wouldn't do that to _you_."

Scott couldn't see Sinister, but he could hear the tap of shoes on the floor, sharp clicks on the stone.

"I told you — you have potential. I don't want to _waste_ it," Sinister continued, and there was enough disdain in his voice for the idea that it was almost believable. "Xavier saw a pawn, where I see a brilliant mind. You could be a king — isn't that what you were before? At your very height — the _savior_ of mutantkind."

"Spare me the speeches," Scott spit out Sinister's way.

The man paused, then chuckled. "There are more ways to save mutantkind than just your fruitless political maneuvers and your hopeless crusades and even your desperate violence," he said. "Surely you know that by now, or you would still be with that pitiful excuse for a team." When Scott was silent, just glaring into the restraints that kept him blind, Sinister let out a sigh. "It's a simple matter of science, my boy. Humanity is on its way out; mutantkind should grow exponentially, given the proper course of evolution. I'm only asking your help making sure that what nature intended for this world is what comes to pass."

"You're asking for a _lot_ more than that," Scott argued.

"Not really," Sinister said soothingly. "I know what you think of my Marauders, Scott, but I would _never_ take your mind from you. What good would that do me?" He laughed. "I have all that I need for brute force. I need a strategist, a mind like yours, full of ideas and potential—"

"And following your every whim," Scott said.

"Oh, I would never subjugate _you_ the way Xavier tried to do," Sinister said as if the thought horrified him. "But you need a purpose, Scott. And it has always been to save your people. You have tried to follow the paths of Charles Xavier, even the great Erik Lensherr — but I've known you since the beginning, Scott. I see what you want, and it's not greatness, not glory. You don't want to be a savior; you just want to belong somewhere. Why not belong with me?"

"You mean belong _to_ you."

"Well, that's always been the case, hasn't it?" Sinister said, sharper this time as he changed tactics when it was clear Scott wasn't going to consider his offer — not yet, anyway. "You play at being a hero, but you always find your way back to me. And you always will, until you realize you can't escape _who you are_."

"That's a lie," Scott ground out through his teeth.

Sinister's response was very nearly immediate, and the sharp edges of the fire had Scott crying out before his mind had even registered the fact that he was in pain. It always burned — psychic attacks always felt like fire, ever since Jean — but this was sharper, harder, almost solid.

"You don't even _know_ who you are," Sinister said, no longer laughing as he all but hissed his words inches from Scott's face. "Like it or not, you are _mine_. And the sooner you wrap your mind around it, the easier this will be for you." He took a step back — Scott could hear it echo in the room over the sound of his own labored breathing.

There was a long pause, and Scott couldn't hear anything but his own heartbeat and breath for the duration of it. Finally, he heard the scrape of wood on stone that meant Sinister had opened a door. "Perhaps you need time to come to terms with the truth," Sinister said, back to his kinder, more pitying tone again. "No one is coming for you, Scott. Think about _that_ while you consider my offer."


	3. Escape from Sinister Chateau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott hits the very bottom of the Rock Bottom, but once he does, there's nowhere left to go but up. And out. See, I told you I was only gonna be mean for a little bit. We're almost to the part where he meets Annie, I swear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes Sinister doing what he's known for, which is forced experimentation, especially on Scott. If that turns your stomach, I'd suggest skipping the end of the first section and the beginning of the second. I don't do graphic, but it's obvious what's happenning.

 

* * *

Scott wasn't entirely sure how long he had been there. He had no way to mark passage of time, not blind as he was, and not when he had no way to measure how long Sinister would stay in his mind for long periods of time. He did know that the psychic attacks were longer than they felt, and he did know that it had been about a day, at least, before it had started again, the icy hot fire in his mind picking apart his every regret, laying it bare in front of him so he couldn't escape the shame of it all.

The worst part was that Sinister didn't need to come up with lies to convince Scott that he didn't deserve to be anywhere but where he was. He only needed memories — untampered, unfiltered. All his mistakes. A lifetime of disappointing everyone that had trusted him.

 _Where will you go?_ Sinister asked, again and again — the same question Scott had been asking himself before this all began. _Your team won't take you back. The world thinks you are a killer and a zealot_ — _and you are._

This most recent visit had ended with Scott in that ruby quartz room, the one the Avengers had built just to contain him. _This is where they'll put you, without a second thought. And you will die there._

No matter where he went, he was a wanted man. And recognizable as he was, he wasn't going to make it long before that caught up to him, and then what? A lifetime in a cell — a legacy of a leader fallen from grace.

And again and again, there was Sinister's offer to take the guilt and the shame and bury it. To give him a purpose again, a legacy to leave behind that was more than failure. _It won't be glorious, and no one will thank you_ — _but history will prove us right._

Scott was _tired_. He didn't know how long he'd been at this, stubbornly telling Sinister 'no.' He didn't know how much longer he _could._ His mind ached from so many attacks, the same way his body would have ached if it was a physical attack. It was sharp at first, and then it grew duller. Eventually, it would turn into a scar, but only if it was given time to heal — and Sinister never gave it the time.

He wasn't sleeping well, though he was physically and mentally exhausted. Everything that Sinister dredged up was still at the forefront of his mind, playing just before his eyes over and over again. He thought he had drifted off a few times here and there from sheer fatigue, but again, it was impossible to tell when he couldn't figure out how much time had passed.

It was during one of these moments of stolen sleep that the Marauders came, and Scott only realized that he _had_ drifted off when he was rudely awakened, dragged to his now-freed feet, though he couldn't get his feet underneath him properly for how long they had been locked together. He didn't know how many Marauders there were — at least two, one on each arm. There might have been more. But he did know that he had hardly even managed to get his feet to catch up to the desperate commands of his brain to walk instead of being dragged before he was lifted off of them.

He didn't know what was happening or where they'd taken him, but he was entirely sure he wouldn't like it, so he jerked and bucked and twisted, his stiff, sore muscles screaming protests with every movement and reminding him just how long he'd been left in his cell to 'think' about Sinister's offer.

He got an elbow in the stomach of one of the Marauders and a knee in the other, and they dropped him. He couldn't catch himself with the way his arms were restrained, and he had no idea which way was up when he fell, so his head cracked against the floor when they dropped him — though the heavy restraint at eye level took most of the hit.

But more importantly, it _jostled_.

Scott gasped out as one of the Marauders kicked him in the chest and knocked the wind out of him, and he felt this time three sets of hands dragging him along, but all he could think was that he was _sure_ there was space… just there… just at the bottom of whatever was keeping him blind.

But he couldn't focus on that, not right then, not when the Marauders dragged him through a doorway and the terrifyingly familiar, overwhelming scent of a too-clean medical suite hit Scott.

He fought harder, teeth gritted, trying every trick he knew. He drove his heel hard into a Marauder's knee, enough to leave the man buckling and listing to one side. From there, Scott dropped, and as the Marauders tried to reassert their grip on him, he spun, sweeping their feet out from underneath them and finally — _finally_ — getting them to let go.

He rolled to the side to avoid the retaliatory hit that he was sure would follow and managed to push himself up to one knee before he felt himself lifted off of his feet, not by Marauders but by telekinesis.

"I _had_ wondered if you had any fight left," Sinister said in a thoughtful sort of tone. Scott was just another experiment to him, his reactions something to be observed — and whatever the test had been, Scott wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that he'd gotten as far as he had.

There was a clicking sound and then a _clang_ as the restraints on his arms suddenly came undone of their own accord and dropped to the ground underneath Scott, and even though Scott couldn't come down from the air, he pulled his arms around in front of him, his shoulders burning with the change in position, his hands tingling as the blood more freely rushed to them. He would have tried to massage the feeling back into his arms, but he couldn't quite raise either hand to do that — not yet, anyway. His wrists and arms were raw, dried blood itchy and sticky there from where he had been trying to get _out._

"I already told you — I'm not going to let you run my life," Scott snapped in the direction of Sinister's voice. It was disorienting, not being able to see him, hanging in the air with only what he could hear to give him any real sense to rely on, and even that was distorted by the echo of the tile floor.

"Yes, so you've said. But you and I both know you don't believe that," Sinister said, and all at once, Scott felt his stomach lurch as he was suddenly thrown sideways, slamming backwards into something cold and metal that snapped restraints around his feet, hands, across his chest and neck, in several places on his arms and legs.

"I said _no!_ " Scott bit out, and he couldn't hide the note of desperation as he twisted and pulled and tried to get out of the new restraints. It took him a while to get reoriented after being suspended in the air, but he could tell from the way the sweat was dripping down his neck from the earlier fight that he was horizontal, flat on his back on an exam table.

He _hated_ this.

"We both know I don't need your consent, my boy," Sinister said, and his voice sounded closer to Scott now. "It would make things easier, of course. I hate to have to tamper _too_ much… Never with your _genetics_ , of course. That would be _incredibly_ wasteful. But with your mind, perhaps — just a little."

Scott could feel the honest panic setting in that only spiked even more when he felt the cold touch of alcohol as Sinister cleaned up his arm. He tried to jerk away, but with how tightly he was held down, he couldn't do much. "Then what's this?" he asked, trying to reason with the man — not that it had ever worked for him before.

Sinister just chuckled. "Oh, a few tests," he said, and Scott felt the bite of a needle in the crook of his elbow. It was so much worse when he couldn't see what was coming, somehow, just left pinned down and waiting for the next sensation.

"I have a few possibilities in mind for you… best to have a fresh baseline, assess the best way to move forward." He paused, long enough that Scott could hear the clang of tools somewhere beyond him as he fought the growing panic. "And as you're so disinclined to help me of your own free will, at the very least, you are, as ever, the perfect research subject."

* * *

Scott woke up with his mouth still filled with the bitter taste of adrenaline and terror, gasping in a lungful of air and suddenly, _immensely_ relieved to find that he was back in the room — not the medical suite — with the stone floors and the heavy shackles and the smell of his own sweat and blood.

He took several long minutes simply to try to regain control of his own panic, hating the fact that Sinister could reduce him to that. He'd never been able to stop Sinister, not on his own, anyway, and he was sure that everything that had just happened was only targeted to break him down even further than the psychic attacks already had.

And if he didn't have the beginnings of a desperate plan forming in the back of his mind, it _absolutely_ would have worked. He was inches from giving in — and if this plan didn't work, he was sure he would.

Scott could still feel the tightness in his chest, the lump in his throat as he swallowed around the pure, unadulterated _fear_ as whatever Sinister had pumped into him started to take effect. He was numb — but not so numb that he couldn't feel at least a few things on occasion, pricks and pressure as Sinister conducted his 'tests'.

Though it was worse, being blind and numb and unable to move, not _knowing_ what was happening to his own body. He could still hear the metallic sound of instruments on a metal tray.

He'd been awake for a long portion of whatever Sinister had been up to — long enough to really settle into the total helplessness of his situation, long enough to be frustrated when the drugs in his veins kept him from the physical signs of panicking, kept his heart rate so that Sinister could do his work. Long enough to know that Sinister had waited until Scott had finally moved beyond panic into hopeless resignation before he put him under for the rest of the tests.

Sinister was right — as long as Scott was there, he could do anything he wanted. Scott couldn't stop him. That was at least part of the point of what he had just done. Which would have been enough to tip Scott over that fine edge into helplessness and hopelessness, except for one thing:

If he _escaped_ …

Scott wasn't sure when the idea of escape had stopped being first and foremost in his mind. Maybe it was part of Sinister's machinations, or maybe it was just that he was so focused on telling Sinister 'no' that he was too tired to do anything else after that. Which… was admittedly probably part of Sinister's machinations….

But he had been sure that the restraint around his eyes had budged when the Marauders dropped him.

It _had_ moved; he was sure of it. But he pushed that knowledge aside for a long time as well, not trusting himself to think of it too much when he didn't know if Sinister was there with him, watching again.

He poured his every thought into slowing his heart rate, controlling his breathing, forcing himself to come down from whatever Sinister had been up to. He was _sore_. He felt drained. And every thought that wasn't focused on assessing his physical state was dedicated to a single-minded mantra that Sinister would be able to hear if he was listening: _The answer is still no._

He kept that up for a long time, longer than even he thought was necessary — and he could be patient — until he was sure that the lack of response meant that Sinister was elsewhere, probably looking through the results of whatever he had taken from Scott.

Satisfied at least that he wasn't going to give away his _one and only_ shot at freedom, Scott held his breath before he pushed his head back against the wall, the restraint around his eyes hitting it before his head did.

Scott had never been able to move it before — and he had tried. He had pulled and twisted and pushed with everything he had to try and get out of the restraints around his eyes, arms, hands, and feet. But this time — maybe because it had been hit when Scott was fighting the Marauders, maybe because he was so slicked with cold sweat — the restraint moved.

He stifled the sound of pure _relief_ that moved through him and focused instead on just trying to work … that much more… just a little more space between the bottom of the restraint and the bottom of his eyes….

 _There_.

Scott knew the moment he had moved it enough, because the optic blasts that were always there, always threatening to break loose, did just that. It was still hampered heavily by the ruby quartz blocking most of his field of vision, but all the same — he could feel the heat of burning lead just above his nose.

It took every ounce of self-control he had not to cry out when the hot metal burned his skin — his blasts had never hurt _him_ , but hot lead… well, that was an entirely different story. But it was worth it, absolutely worth it, when he finally broke through the bottom of the restraint and pointed his gaze down, twisting until it _hurt_ and pushing his head over his shoulder until he could feel burning metal on his hands too.

He closed his eyes again once his hands were free, just leaning back so that he could get his breath back. He was sure he'd done something to his shoulder twisting that hard so he could reach it with his optic blasts, but it was worth it — _so worth it_ — if it meant getting out of there. And his hands and arms were killing him, not to mention the skin underneath his eyes and on his nose.

He took in his breath through his teeth. He couldn't let up now and risk Sinister or the Marauders finding him with only half the job done, so as soon as he had managed to massage some semblance of feeling back into his hands — it was easier from there.

Relatively speaking, anyway.

Even up and mobile, he couldn't quite see yet, and he was slow — stiff and sore and hurting and tired. He could push up the restraints enough to get a blast underneath them, and he could aim it if he tipped his head back and just right, but that wasn't going to last in a fight. He needed a way to get this thing _off_ of his face.

His first thought was to find something concave — maybe he could figure out the angles, get the rebound just right — so he felt his way around the room, first the edges and then the middle. The only thing he could find, though, was the door itself — thick and metal and clearly built to keep him in even if he found a way to access his optic blasts, just like the heavy stone of everything else was supposed to do the same, and depending on how thick it was, Scott wasn't sure which would be the easier option for breaking out, honestly.

It wasn't _quite_ what he was looking for, as Scott ran his hands over the too-smooth surface. Not quite concave, not quite … but he could make it work. It was literally his only option.

It took a few tries to get it right. He couldn't see to set up the angles unless he was in the middle of an optic blast. And he was sure the noise was going to alert someone soon, his heart pounding in his ears as the next attempt just grazed the hair above his ear — closer, but not quite.

But close enough that he could tip his head ... just a fraction of an inch…

He broke into a relieved sort of grin when the blast nearly knocked him backwards, though he kept his eyes open and kept the blast going as it bored into the lead — or whatever it was — covering the ruby quartz. He kept going until he could see red, not black, when he let the heavy band fall back over his eyes, and then he pushed it up again, blasting until he had drilled through or melted through the covering enough that he had more or less his range of vision back. Enough to work with, anyway.

The skin under his eyes was screaming for mercy, and he was starting to lose the feeling in his fingers from pushing up the scorching hot restraint so that he could use his optic blasts. But it was worth it. It was working.

Now finally able to move around freely and able to _see_ , Scott took in the stone-covered cell. It was just about as he'd figured — stone everywhere but the door — and he was just getting ready to start trying to blast through the edges of the door when it swung open.

So he blasted into the Marauders there instead.

It wasn't perfect — he couldn't get the full blast because he still had to move up the ruby quartz, which was still wrapped around his head. And while getting rid of a lot of the lead made it so that he could access more, push the quartz up higher, it wasn't ideal. Still, it was enough to plow the first Marauder backwards into his fellows, giving Scott enough of an opening to just _run_.

He poured everything he had into running, getting out. He didn't know which way _was_ out, but he knew which way the medical suite was, so he turned the opposite direction and poured on the speed, knocking back another Marauder that got too close before a second managed to get close enough for a sucker punch that reeled Scott—

—but it also cracked the side of the last of the lead.

In an instant, Scott reached up to wrench off the restraint — though he kept hold of it so that he had something he could see through — and simply let the Marauders have it. Full blast, no visor, nothing but raw power.

He didn't let up after he blasted through the two behind him — or the three in front of him. In fact, he powered through them, running in the direction of the beam as fast as he could as he made his way down the hall. He could hear the creaks and protests of the place as he tore into walls, and he thought he felt a shudder that meant he might have cut through a support beam somewhere.

But there still wasn't an exit, so he kept going.

It was wearing on him, and he had to pause to get his breath and his bearings with the ruby quartz, but when he heard the sound of someone running behind him, he picked up the pace again, shooting over his shoulder. He wouldn't have thought anything of it except that he heard a hissed voice half shouting commands, and that was what finally got him to stop.

It wasn't that Sinister had _made_ him stop, like before. It was that he wanted to be sure of where he was aiming when he simply let him have it with a blast so forceful it knocked through two Marauders before it even hit Sinister and smashed all three into a wall, smoking.

Scott didn't stay to see if it had worked, though. He was almost certain it hadn't — that Sinister would be up again any instant, healed again like always, or if nothing else, that Sinister would move into a different body. He didn't think he'd killed him. He didn't _care_. He wasn't interested in Sinister — he just wanted to get. Out.

He tried half a dozen doors, all of them locked, before he finally found one that led outside — or at least, it led up. And considering the lack of windows in the place, Scott was sure that was the direction he wanted to take.

He took the stairs two at a time, panting and pushing the exhaustion that was tugging insistently with black, fuzzy fingers at the corners of his vision until he did finally find the door that led outside — to a jarringly different sight from the stone and metal down below. It was the Alaska coastline — he'd seen it plenty of times before.

He'd figure out where, exactly, he was later, though he was realizing even with it being the middle of summer, his torn jeans and even more torn-up shirt just wasn't going to cover it, especially when the sun went down. It was chilly enough that it stung the fresh burns on his hands and face, especially with the wind off the sea, and he realized, belatedly, that he also didn't have a wallet, keys… shoes… anything that could get him beyond wherever he was.

He turned on his heel and torched the edges of the door behind him for good measure before, finally, he took the time to gather himself. He forced the fuzziness from his consciousness, took deep breaths, set his jaw, and started walking, listening the entire time for any sign of a Marauder or anyone else on his tail as he did so.

* * *

Scott made it far enough toward town by the time night started to fall that he actually spotted the first sign of another human being — a guy in a truck who stopped when he saw Scott limping his way down the side of the road. Scott had heard the truck coming, of course, and he was ready for trouble, but the guy just pulled to a stop beside him.

"You alright?" the man asked, rolling down his window as he looked Scott over.

Scott hesitated. The man did sound genuinely concerned… "I will be," he said at last, but the driver let out a little scoff at that.

"You look like you been through the ringer," he said, and Scott almost smirked at the observation. "Hop on in. Ain't gonna find nobody else for a coupla miles anyhow."

For a moment, Scott considered turning down the offer. He didn't know this person, and honestly, he was still on edge from everything that had happened, half convinced that Sinister would catch up to him any second. And it wouldn't be the first time Sinister had used what _looked like_ a civilian to catch Scott….

But on the other hand, Scott was _exhausted_. It was a miracle he was still on his feet, and he frankly didn't know if he had another few miles in him.

"Thanks," Scott said at last as he climbed into the passenger side of the truck.

"No problem," the man said before flashing him a little smile and sticking his hand out in greeting. "Name's Louis."

"Scott," he said as he took the man's hand to shake it — with his good arm. He really had done something horrible to his left shoulder, and it was getting stiffer the longer it went unattended.

Louis let out a low whistle when he saw the blood and bruising as he shook Scott's hand — and looked Scott over more carefully. "What happened to you? Accident?"

Scott almost smirked. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure my car is totalled," he said, thinking back on the Marauders' attack and how his front door had crumpled in from just one hit. "I don't know where it is, actually."

Louis nodded to himself. "You got anybody I should call for you?"

"Not really," Scott admitted, though the thought had him frowning. _No one is coming for you._ "It's just me."

"Well, at least lemme getcha into town," Louis said. "There's a phone in the back of the bar — only thing that's open this late." He let out a little laugh. "You know, fer if you thinka someone worth callin' and lettin' 'em know you been run over. I'd give ya my phone, but it ain't working. Been droppin' calls left an' right, an' I gotta take it in to getta new one, my wife says."

"I appreciate that," Scott said, leaning back against the seat of the car. Now that he was sitting, not moving, he could feel the fatigue in his muscles and bones. He closed his eyes, his head tipped back.

He really should call someone. At this point, with no money, no car, and hardly enough energy to make it through the ride down to the bar in a state that was even close to consciousness, he _needed_ to call someone.

He was so tired. It was hard to sort out his own thoughts as he forced himself to _think_ , to plan his next move.

_They'll just lock you up again._

Scott frowned and pushed the memory of Sinister's voice out of his mind. At least with the X-Men or even the Avengers he could rest. Recover. Maybe even try to reason with them. If they locked him up, at least it would be better than what he'd just left.

He had just decided that he would call the institute — whoever answered, he'd deal with it, though ideally it would be someone like Kurt or Hank or someone he had a prayer of _not_ pissing off — when Louis apparently got concerned about Scott possibly falling asleep on him. He must have looked pretty bad to warrant the worried tone Louis was giving him, and after Louis was sure Scott hadn't just died on him, he started to tell Scott about his family — his wife and two little boys…

Scott nodded and listened the whole way to the bar, actually relieved for the change in topic and something to focus on that wasn't crazed geneticists, angry Avengers, or what on earth his next move was supposed to be.

Once they pulled up to the bar, Louis paused. "D'you want me to stay? Y'know, until your friends can pick you up… or an ambulance or somethin'."

"No, thanks," Scott said as he slid out of the passenger side door. "You've already done more than enough, really. You should go home to your family."

The skinny man thought about it for a long moment before he finally nodded and grabbed some paper from the glove department, scribbling down a phone number. "You run into any trouble, you gon' call me, eh?"

Scott couldn't help but smile at that as he took the scrap of paper and put it in his back pocket. "Thanks again."

Louis shrugged but didn't leave the parking lot until he had seen that Scott at least made it to the door of the bar, and even then he seemed reluctant to drive away — though he did, eventually, leave.

Scott was already drawing some interested stares when he got into the bar. He was sure he looked horrible, but the sideview mirror of Louis' truck hadn't exactly painted a full picture of just how bad it was. And he knew it didn't help that he was wearing a bulky red band across his face, broadcasting his identity a mile away.

He made his way to the bar counter, where the bartender was looking at him suspiciously. "I need to use your phone, please," he said, leaning against the counter for support. He was so _tired_.

The bartender looked him over with obvious trepidation. "You alright, fella?"

"I'll be just fine; I just need to call up…" He paused. What did he call the people at the mansion? His friends? He didn't know if that was accurate anymore. Maybe he could call some of the X-Men with Emma, but if _she_ knew and came to get him, he was never going to hear the end of it.

 _You leave and get captured by Sinister for days_ — _honestly, Scott._

He shook his head to himself. "I'll get out of your hair quick," he promised.

The bartender considered him for a moment longer before she nodded. "Alright, but Pammy's using it right now to call a cab," she said, tipping her head to draw Scott's gaze to the passed out guy in the corner of the bar. "How 'bout I get my cell from the back?"

"Thanks," Scott said with a grateful nod as he sat on one of the stools by the counter to wait.


	4. A Doctor, Not a Jail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the best police officer in the entire state of Alaska, Anton Wright, (what? No, I'm not biased in my descriptions shhhhh) finds a badly battered Cyclops after his recent run-in with Sinister. Officer Wright's biggest concern is making sure this guy doesn't up and die on him, but it turns out that's hard when there are drunken vigilantes and angry mobs to contend with in the path to getting the famed X-Man to badly-needed medical attention.

 

* * *

Anton Wright was used to crowds parting for him. He'd been living in Anchorage for a couple years now, ever since his wife had asked him to look for a job closer to where her baby sister was living alone — the woman was a mother hen sometimes — but he could still get a room to empty as fast as when he'd first arrived and was terrifying and new. He was, first and foremost, big, black, and broad. Six feet, six inches, at least 250 pounds, though with his sister-in-law staying over more nights than not and paying rent with ridiculously over-the-top cooking spreads, he was sure he was going to be pushing 350 by summer's end. He was pointedly not checking the scale.

So when he got to Pammy's bar and shot a glare at the group of men getting rowdier and drunker than a Tuesday night called for further down at one of the corner booths, they quieted down.

He'd arrested half of those men or better since he'd gotten to Alaska.

He kept half an eye on the bunch of men as he got to the bar, and Pammy already had his usual Jack Daniels waiting for him when he spotted the run-down guy at the far end half leaned against the wall and looking all kinds of beat down.

Yeah, there was definitely some kinda trouble there.

With a sigh, he grabbed his drink and headed down until he dropped into the seat next to the guy. It took him all of about five seconds to identify him — no uniform, but the big ol' red band gave it away. He used to work in bigger cities than Anchorage, and half the Atlanta force had been pissed off about the X-Men, mutants in general, that big fight on registration — you name it, they were pissed about it. Not that the police in Anchorage weren't that way — he'd had more than his share of problems joining the force looking like he did, and he'd heard "at least he ain't a mutie" at least nine times as an argument for his fellow officers to accept him and quit with the hazing. Which didn't sit well with him. But the bigger cities at least had the excuse of getting destroyed in the superhero fights half the time.

But whatever his views on the whole thing — that was Cyclops sitting at the end of the bar, clearly coming off the wrong end of some kind of fight. There was a warrant out for the guy, sure, but Anton had his own set of rules, drilled into him by the way his own dad had raised him. First and foremost was he wasn't gonna arrest anybody who looked like you could push 'em over with a feather until he'd at least found out if the guy needed a _hospital_ more than he needed handcuffs.

He was still wary, though, as he sat down. "You alright?" he asked in a low tone, surprised when Cyclops just turned his way and gave him a weary smile.

"I'll be fine," the guy said. "Just waiting to use the phone, and I promise I'll get out of your hair."

Anton chuckled. "I ain't the bouncer."

Cyclops shook his head. "That wasn't what I meant."

"Yeah, it's alright," Anton said, still smirking to himself, though as he took a long drink of Jack Daniels, he could see the fact that the famous supposed terrorist was shaking slightly with the effort of holding himself upright. He frowned. That was a serious hurt. "You want me to call an ambulance? Bar ain't exactly the best place to heal up."

"I'll be fine," Cyclops said again, his tone far more tired that anybody had any right to sound.

"Yeah, I'mma call you an ambulance," Anton said, getting up to leave before he paused and waved Pammy over. "Hey, you take this guy's order, put it on my tab."

"You really don't have to do that," Cyclops said. "I told you — I'm fine."

"Don't nobody believe that lie," Anton said, shaking his head. "Didya eat yet?"

Cyclops paused a worryingly long amount of time before he shook his head.

Anton nodded. Yeah, he wasn't going anywhere until he was sure he wasn't about to have a body on his hands. "Pammy's got the hottest fire wings in town if you're up to it. Tell 'er to hold the sauce if you ain't. Not much else to eat 'round here, but it's better'n starvin'." He waved his cell phone. "I'mma call the hospital up."

"It's really fine," Cyclops said. "I just—"

"You can't even sit on a stool right. Besides, you ain't got a say in it." He paused and reached into his jacket to produce his badge. "Officer Wright. 'Fraid I'm gonna need to put you under arrest, so don' go leavin' without my say so. I'd take you down to the station, but you're liable to die on me 'fore we even get there, and I got a rule 'bout not escortin' people to a death sentence if I can help it," he said. "So we're goin' to the hospital, you and me. And seein' as you're in my custody, you best just let me take care of it."

Anton had expected a lot more of a reaction from the famed X-Man, some kind of _argument_ if not a fight at the very least, so he was downright shocked when Cyclops just nodded and leaned against the wall with a tired-sounding, "Alright."

Anton let out a little, low whistle to himself. "Musta been some fight," he muttered as he headed outside to get better reception and call up the chief first, let him know who exactly Pammy had in her bar.

"I ain't takin' him to the station," Anton told his chief flat-out when Harcourt started in on telling him to haul his butt down there. "We're goin' to the hospital. I take him there, he's liable to get killed."

"That's really not our problem," Harcourt argued.

Anton gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Should be our problem, chief," he said. "Besides, you really think our station's gonna keep in one of the X-Men if you're that worried 'bout him? You gotta call somebody. SHIELD, the Avengers, I dunno. There's gotta be somebody more qualified, and I ain't gonna just sit that guy down in a cell to get the life beat outta him the second I close the door."

Harcourt started up another argument, but Anton could hear some kind of ruckus in Pammy's place and sighed. "Hold on, boss, I'm fixin' to have to bust up a fight again."

He was back in the door before Harcourt could ream him out, and he somehow wasn't surprised to see that it was the same group of troublemakers he'd noticed earlier gathered in a bunch near the end of the bar. He could hear the chants and shouting of "give it to 'im" and the like that meant the guy he'd _literally_ just left alone for a couple minutes had already found more trouble. He could see over the men's heads enough to see the fists flying — and to see that the idiot X-Man was sagging with each hit. If he wasn't unconscious already, Anton would be surprised — he hadn't been in great shape to start.

He ran his hands over his face before he drew himself up to his full height and barked out his orders: "Break it up. _Now_!"

A few of the men were already parting as soon as Anton showed up, but the main group, about five of 'em, didn't make a move to stop what they were doing, and when Anton pushed his way through, he was already hauling back both Arnolds and Monet by the collars to pull 'em back from pounding on the worn-down Cyclops.

Tucker and Diaz had an arm apiece, holding the nearly unconscious X-Man against the wall while Laurens got in another few hard hits, not paying Anton the least bit of attention until Anton physically hauled him back by his shoulders. "What the _hell_ are you doing?" he all but roared in Laurens' face.

Laurens, all of five-foot-ten, drew up to yell right back at him, stinking so badly of beer that Anton nearly choked on the fumes standing so close to him. "You should be _thanking_ us — doin' you a favor — one less mutie—" He couldn't form a full sentence, but he was opening and closing his hands in fists until he finally got up to taking a swing at Anton, and a second later, he was on the ground as Anton dug for his cuffs.

"Yeah, I'm not in the mood for this," he muttered as Laurens shouted more garbled nonsense, none of which was a sentence but all of which had Anton feeling less and less charitable as he heard it.

At least a few of the men had the sense to try to run, but Pammy beat them to it and had already locked the door, leaned against the front entrance with her rifle cocked and the look of fury that made her the best bar owner in the town. "Anton, you can arrest 'em, or they can serve part o' their community service right here right now and clean up the mess they made of my bar," she said, and he had to chuckle. That was Pammy.

She practically oversaw the whole thing as Anton made it a point to make sure all five men were secure until his partner showed up with a couple squad cars. That shotgun of hers was loaded with rock salt that every man in that bar knew she wouldn't hesitate to use — which was an effective deterrent as she stood by the now unconscious Cyclops.

"Hey, Tim," Anton said as Tim Vice came in with a look that was half amusement and half longsuffering on seeing the state of things - Pammy with her shotgun, Anton flat-out promising the very drunk men that they'd better _exercise their right to remain silent_ , one bloody X-Man just hanging onto living, the whole nine.

"Busy night?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, and I'm s'pposed to be off-duty," Anton grumbled. "Whole week o' plans with my girls, and here I got these idiots tryin' to make my life harder."

"Sounds about right," Tim chuckled, though he paused and tipped his head toward Cyclops when he saw the state of him. "You need any—"

"Nah, I got it," Anton said. "Just takin' him to the hospital. Chief call SHIELD or somebody?"

"Avengers."

"Fine. Tell 'em to meet me at the hospital, cuz I sure ain't lettin' him outta my sight, all things considered."

"Yeah — about that," Tim said, taking in a full breath before he let it all out at once. "You're gonna have a hard time getting there — somebody let slip who was expected to be at the hospital and…"

"You're kidding," Anton said, shaking his head.

"Chief says we don't have the resources to spare for protection, so just bring him down to the station, have the docs there—"

"Tim, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Anton snapped back. "If folks're so pissed off it's that much of a problem, just send the Avengers to my place. Unless you think somebody's gonna look there and come mess with _me_?"

"You sure?" Tim asked. "What about Rachel and the girls?"

"I'll call ahead. Ain't like he's gonna be much trouble," Anton pointed out as he tipped his head toward where the oh-so-dangerous Cyclops was very much passed out and looked like death warmed over. "I'll call Pheebs on my way in, have her make a house call."

"You need backup?"

"You gonna find me backup that ain't gonna tell the local news or whoever it is that's got people blocking a freakin' _hospital_?" Anton shot back with a withering glare.

Tim raised both hands in a gesture of peace. "Alright, just saying."

"Just sayin', nothin'," Anton grumbled as he bent down to pick up Cyclops. _Rachel's gonna love this_ , he thought as he headed for the door. "You tell the boss if he calls I went and took Cyclopes, in _my custody,_ to the only available decent medical attention that I could reasonably call safe, alright?"

"He's gonna be on your case for—"

"When is he not on my case?" Anton said, shrugging with one shoulder before the two of them hit the parking lot and Tim helped Anton to get the unconscious X-Man into the back of Anton's car.

Anton called ahead to let the girls know what was happening, and while initially, he had intended to bring Cyclops home, his wife, Rachel, was a little worried about the girls. Leslie Ann and Mary Beth had already gone to bed for the night after a long, long wrestling match, and she didn't want to move them if she could help it — though of course she agreed with him that they couldn't just turn the guy over to the other inmates or the mob at the hospital.

It was Rachel's sister, Annie, who finally put forward an idea they could all live with, practically grabbing the phone from Rachel's hands. "You can use my place, Anton," Annie said. "I'll meet you there and let you in. Not like anyone's usin' it otherwise."

It was better than packing up his girls to keep them out of the line of stupid anti-mutant fire, so Anton agreed, and that was how he found himself dragging an unconscious X-Man into his sister-in-law's townhome in the middle of the night.

Annie was almost a carbon copy of her sister, though Rachel's hair was a little lighter and Annie definitely had more freckles. But the two of them were inseparable enough that they were easy to mix up — slim, pretty brunettes who, like Anton, hadn't lost a trace of their accents. Anton had met Annie briefly when he was living in Atlanta with Rachel, but Annie had been going to school back then. She'd gotten her first teaching job out in Anchorage, and the two sisters had as children pledged to live close to one another their whole lives — and they meant it — so Anton got a job in Alaska, of all places.

He didn't fault Annie for the move one bit, though. She and Rachel were beautiful together, and Annie didn't seem to realize that she had the eyes of more than a few of the men in town, so he was glad he was around to beat them off. It was no wonder Rachel wanted to watch out for her baby sister.

Annie held the door open for him and indicated the couch, which she'd already set up with blankets and a First Aid kit nearby. She let out a low whistle when she saw the state of the battered Cyclops. "Who was it?"

"Laurens and his friends," Anton told her as he set Cyclops down and winced. "Gettin' blood on your couch, Annie."

She waved her hand. "I know how to get stains out. I'm a woman; I can deal with a little blood."

Anton chuckled and shook his head. Should've known better than to try and look out for one of the Hale sisters. At least openly. They could take care of themselves, and they reminded everyone of that fact.

"When's Phoebe supposed to be here?" she asked.

"She was about ten minutes behind me, last I heard."

Annie was already headed to her kitchen to grab some water bottles, and she paused. "Have you eaten anything yet?"

"Yeah, on my way home before I hit the bar."

"Good." She shut the fridge door and made her way over to hand him a cold bottle of water before she looked over the unconscious man on her couch. "And you really can't take him to the hospital?"

"Somebody told the local lynch mob 'bout who was s'pposed to be comin'," Anton said with a sigh.

Annie narrowed her eyes at that and let out a derisive sort of noise. "Well, you tell me when you find out who it was so I can string 'em up by their ears."

Anton chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm serious, Anton. If you think I'm fixin' to sit around while these… these… ugh." She gestured at Cyclops. "What danger is he to anyone? You don't even have him in cuffs, Anton — he ain't that worrisome."

Anton just nodded as Annie stormed off, gathering a few other supplies that she thought her new visitor might need as she ranted about _what kind of people mob a hospital_. He didn't really answer her either way, though he did keep half an eye on the unconscious X-Man on Annie's couch.

 _Technically,_ Cyclops was under arrest, but Anton just hadn't had it in him to slap the cuffs on, not when he'd gotten the guy into the back of his car and got a real good look at the kind of injuries he was sporting — and not just from the beat-down at the bar.

The guy's wrists and ankles were raw all the way around, and Anton had seen those kind of injuries before. He'd busted up a trafficking ring when he was with the force in Atlanta. And he just didn't have it in him to cuff a guy who'd clearly just been wearing chains.

Anton leaned back in the loveseat across from the couch and let out all his breath. No, he wasn't gonna cuff the guy, but he sure wasn't gonna take his eyes off him, either, and he had his hand resting on his sidearm the whole time he waited for Phoebe to come with her doctor's kit. He wasn't gonna take chances, not with Rachel's baby sister in the house.

So he just settled in to wait for the Avengers to show up so he could wash his hands of the whole mess, nursing a headache already the more he thought on how his evening had been flipped upside down.


	5. Nothin' But Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott wakes up after a long, long ordeal in a stranger's home. Hank McCoy is there to offer him a ride back to Westchester, but after *finally* getting up the courage to leave, Scott just isn't ready to go back to the X-Men. He's still not sure he deserves it, after all.

 

* * *

Scott woke up _fast_ when he smelled medicinal alcohol, and he woke up swinging, connecting with something — or someone — before he'd even fully realized he was awake, though he recognized the gentle voice almost as soon as he did so.

"Calm down, Scott. It's me," Hank McCoy said, resting one heavy and furry hand on Scott's chest to get him to lay back, and Scott let out all his breath in a rush, relieved beyond belief.

He'd thought...

No, he escaped Sinister.

"Sorry about that," he croaked out, surprised at how rough his own voice sounded to him and how hard it was to speak. His chest hurt like crazy, though he supposed that was from those guys at the bar…

He looked around, caught a bit off guard when he wasn't at the mansion or even on a jet. It looked like he was in someone's _home_. He was on a couch… he could see the top of a kitchen counter close by… family pictures on the mantle of three sisters — two brunettes and a blonde…

He then turned his attention downward and watched for a moment as Hank worked to clean up the injuries he'd acquired over the past few days. A shorter, grey-haired woman with a stethoscope was talking with the big police officer Scott had met at the bar, and another woman, brunette, was seated in the loveseat and quietly, curiously, watching Hank work. At some point, Hank must have switched out the thing Sinister had put him in for Scott's usual glasses, and it made sitting back so much easier when there wasn't something at the back of his head stopping him.

"What happened?" Scott asked in that same hoarse whisper, and Hank shook his head lightly.

"I should ask you the same thing," he pointed out, gesturing with one hand to the rest of Scott.

He couldn't help but smirk. "Asked you first."

Hank let out a little low chuckle, shaking his head once more. "You are incredibly lucky," he told Scott. "Not only that these kind people opened their homes to you and invited a good doctor—" He tipped his head to the gray-haired woman. "—but that our Storm doesn't believe a word of the news and asked a few of us up this way to look into that little matter of the police in Canada—"

"That wasn't me," Scott said quickly.

"None of us think it was," Hank assured him. "But now that you've been caught up to date on just how it is you got from the bar where this gentleman found you to here — would you please tell me how it is you got … well, into such a state?" he asked, frowning over the top of his glasses, still working as he spoke.

Scott leaned back into the arm of the couch and let out the very little breath that was in his lungs. When he answered, it was low enough that Hank was the only one to hear it. "It was Sinister," he said quietly.

Hank's eyes flashed as for a moment he looked over his old teammate with a new understanding before he let out a hum of displeasure. "That would certainly explain it."

Scott nodded, feeling tired already at the memory of it. "I'd only just gotten out when I got here… or to the bar, anyway," he said. "Honestly, I was going to call the institute…"

"And you ran instead into ruffians," Hank finished for him, shaking his head.

Scott gave him a wan smile. "Pretty much."

Hank shook his head at that. "Well, you will be happy to know that the X-Men have at least cleared your good name in the regard of the matter a few weeks ago. Storm is an excellent investigator, and—"

"A few weeks?" Scott repeated, sitting up taller with his eyebrows high on his head.

Hank paused and frowned Scott's way. "Yes…" he said carefully, frowning deeper when Scott's glare seemed to deepen at the answer.

"I didn't know it had been that long."

Hank watched Scott for a long moment before he put a gentle hand on his arm. "Why not come back with me to the school?" he asked. "Quite frankly, you could use the rest, and it would be better if I had more than just the supplies I had on hand and what the good Doctor Kjar had with her." He smiled toward the woman and the police officer. "You're incredibly lucky, Scott," he said again.

"Yeah," Scott said, not believing it in the least. He closed his eyes as he leaned back, still processing everything Hank had said. _A few weeks. Weeks. I didn't realize…_ "I appreciate the offer," he said at last. "But in case you missed the memo, I'm a fugitive — and under arrest, last time I checked," he added with the slightest of smirks toward the tall officer … he didn't even remember the guy's name.

"It wouldn't be the first time we've harbored fugitives," Hank said with a little smile. "And technically, you're in Avengers custody."

Scott almost laughed. "Of all the Avengers…" He shook his head. _If it was anything else, I wouldn't have woken up on the couch,_ he couldn't help but think. Maybe he _was_ lucky.

"I happened to be in the neighborhood," Hank said, the smile widening.

Scott smirked at that as Hank finished wrapping his arm. Hank — and, he supposed, the doctor that the police officer had called — had been thorough. Chest, arms, legs, all wrapped. Shoulder in a sling. He could even see the burn cream Hank had been using — apparently while he was still unconscious — sitting beside the bag.

But as pleased as he was to see Hank again… "I'm not an X-Man anymore, Hank," he said in a bare whisper.

Hank wrinkled his brow as he turned with both shoulders Scott's way. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"I left," he said, and the words were heavy in his mouth. "I left Emma and the team behind. And frankly, I'm not going back." He couldn't go back. They were better off without him, better off with a leader who at least knew what he was _doing_...

Hank almost laughed. "Well, that certainly explains a few things," he said, and when Scott raised an eyebrow in silent question, he explained, "It seems that particular faction… dissolved, I suppose would be the best and most accurate description." He was shaking his head to himself. "Most of our dear friends are back at the institute — or else they have found other places to call home."

Scott thought about it for a long moment. He was glad to hear that the other X-Men were alright, though he was disappointed that his leaving had caused _another_ rift. _Can't even do that right._ Finally, he took in a deep breath. "It's alright, Hank," he said at last. "I appreciate the offer, really, but… I left."

Hank rested his chin on one of his hands, leaned forward as he thought it over. "If that's the case, then I insist you stay _off_ your feet for at least a couple weeks before you go gallivanting off to your next non-X-Man crisis," he said. "Doctor Kjar will take care of you for the time being, but if you change your mind…"

"I know where to find you," Scott agreed, leaning further back into the couch. He closed his eyes and let out all his breath, too tired for the moment to really think about his situation more than just the simple understanding that he _couldn't_ go back. Though if he had taken just a second to think, he would have realized he was right back where he started before the fiasco with Sinister — only this time with no car and no money either

"Sorry, but… is this how this always works?" broke in the little brunette on the loveseat, and both Hank and Scott turned her way, surprised. She flushed and pushed her hair behind her ears. "I mean, the police go to all this trouble to get the Avengers here, just so you two can sit down and chat and go on your merry ways?"

Hank tipped his head to the side. "And how is it that you think this should work?" he asked gently.

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure there's a jury and bail money involved," she said with a little smirk.

Hank laughed and looked Scott's way. "Do you hear that, Mr. Summers? I think we should consider you to be on probation, shall we?" he had to tease.

Scott couldn't help but smile. _If it'd been anyone but Hank…_ he thought before he just nodded. "Yeah, sounds fair."

That was a lie, of course. It wasn't fair in the least, not after everything he had done, but it was _Hank_. Arguing with Hank… was difficult enough on a good day when he _didn't_ feel like he'd been through the wringer a thousand times over and was too tired to get into much more than this barest of conversations.

Hank chuckled and shook his head before he got to his feet. "Call me _before_ you get into another round of trouble like this," he told Scott sternly, and when the answer was a nearly sheepish look, Hank apparently decided that was good enough for him and headed out — though not before thanking the police officer and Doctor Kjar on his way out.

The door had hardly been closed behind Hank five seconds before the woman in the loveseat let out a little disbelieving noise. "Well, that's the Avengers for you. I suppose _rules_ don't apply."

Scott frowned her way, not sure what to make of this woman. She had her long, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and from the pictures on the mantle, this was her place, but she didn't seem too happy… "Sorry to inconvenience you," he rasped out, suddenly wishing he had a little more strength in his arms and legs so he could get out of her hair.

Her expression softened, and she immediately shook her head at him. "Oh, no, honey, I didn't mean _you_ ," she promised, and Scott almost smirked at the familiar 'honey'ed Southern accent that sounded so much like Rogue's. "You didn't do a thing wrong as far as I'm concerned. I just wish the Avengers would — I don't know… it's just so rude of them to _leave_ a person here!"

"I asked him to."

"You," she said, leveling an accusing finger his way, "don't know what you're saying. Beat to high heavens and worse." She shook her head. "Downright negligent is what it is. Supposed to be heroes…"

Scott just watched her with that same bemused expression, still not sure what she was talking about. "It's fine."

She rolled her eyes before she waved her hand to dismiss him. "So," she said, getting to her feet. "If you're going to be staying here, I'll need to get down a few more extra blankets, and take a trip to the grocery store, but I hate to leave you alone—"

"Hang on," Scott said, sitting up on his elbows with a little frown.

"You heard that Avenger," the woman pointed out. "You're not s'pposed to go anywhere, and you sure ain't goin' to the hospital or anyplace else for a while 'til things die down a little."

"I don't want to inconvenience y-"

"Honey, where I'm from, if a man's bleedin', you take him home and patch him up and don't ask questions on how he got to that state until he's not in danger of dyin' on you," the woman said, again cutting him off.

"Which reminds me," the large police officer said, turning from his conversation with the doctor and settling down into the seat Hank had just vacated with an entirely more serious look than he'd had before. "If you want to make an official statement, I rounded up all them boys from the bar."

Scott blinked at the man in surprise. "That…" He trailed off. He just wasn't used to _that_ kind of reaction from anyone official. "Okay then," he said when he simply couldn't come up with anything else _to_ say.

The big man broke into a smile and extended his hand for Scott to shake. "Anton Wright," he said. "Introduced myself before, but I figure you probably forgot it in all the mess that's happened since then."

"Scott Summers," he replied as he shook Anton's hand. Who _were_ these people?

"And this is my wife's sister, Annie Hale," Anton said. "She's the one who suggested we bring you here."

Scott looked toward Annie, who waved with the tips of her fingers. "I'm hardly ever home durin' the summer. Ain't like anyone's gonna look here," she explained easily.

"You really don't have to go to all this trouble," Scott said, shifting slightly.

"If we hadn't, you'd be dead," Annie told him frankly, her chin jutted out in defense of her decision. "And no one in my family abides with murder."

Scott shifted again. He really wasn't used to that kind of reaction, especially to _him_ , and as nice as it was to see, he couldn't help but think that it was undeserved. "Those guys at the bar…"

"They're trouble," Anton told him honestly. "I have to deal with 'em all the time, and half the time it's cuz they been hittin' the drink. Ain't your fault."

 _It kind of is,_ Scott thought. At least, it was his fault that he was the most recognizable face of mutant terrorism — that everyone thought he was just as bad as Magneto had once been. "There's some debate on that point," he said at last.

"Mmm, no," Annie said, shaking her head. "There's no reason to beat a person to death. Ever."

Scott shook his head. "I know, but—"

"But nothing. Keep talkin' like that and see if I let you out of the house," Annie threatened, her finger leveled at him. "There's _no_ reason they should've been hittin' you, X-Man or no, and from what Anton tells me, you didn't hit a one of 'em, either."

Scott looked toward Anton, who shrugged. "Not a mark on any of 'em," he explained. "And nobody woulda blamed you. Clear-cut self-defense, if you ask me. I certainly wouldn't've booked you on anything even if you were blastin' up to high heaven."

Scott almost smirked, unable to think of anything else to do when he simply... couldn't believe that. . "That's not usually how things go for me."

"Well that's just stupid," Annie said, her arms crossed for a moment before she let out a huff and started toward the door, grabbing her keys from a knob by the door. "I need to get some food, seein' as I'm cookin' for two all of a sudden." She paused and looked Scott over. "And some clothes, probably. I'll guess on the sizing. You're, what, almost as tall as Anton?" When Scott started to argue that he didn't need it, though, she just cut him off. "I'll figure it out. You just stay there and rest."

Before Scott could get a word in edgewise, the door was already shut behind her, and he looked toward Anton, who just raised both hands and chuckled. "Don't look at me. I just married into the family. They're all like that."

Scott shook his head as he pushed himself up a little taller on his elbows. "I really appreciate the hospitality, honestly, but there's no reason for you and your sister-in-law to put yourselves through the kind of trouble that tends to follow me around," he said, thinking of Sinister … the guys at the bar…

"Your Avenger friend left your wallet for you," Anton told him, and Scott had to shake his head. _Of course he did. Probably his own money too._ "So if you wanna get on a bus or a flight back to the mainland or whatever you want to do, that's fine by me, seein' as the Avengers ain't pressin' any charges or anythin'. But you and me — we answer to a higher authority." He leaned forward with a chuckle. "Nobody leaves Annie's house 'til she says."

"She doesn't realize what ... I don't know if you've noticed, but take a look at a newspaper and anyone will tell you I'm a wanted terrorist," Scott argued.

"That ain't what the blue man said when he came by," Anton said. "But you go right ahead and tell me all 'bout it. Already called it in to the chief, done my due diligence. You get the urge to blow somethin' up, and I'll put you on the ground in five seconds flat, seein' as you're in the mood to confess."

Scott stared at him. This… was not like any conversation he'd had with any police officer. Ever.

Anton let out a long breath as he leaned forward to level with Scott. "See, that story ain't gonna fly with me, the stuff they're sayin' 'bout the X-Men and heroes and all that. I don't believe word one of it. So you tell me — straight up. You really everythin' they say you are?"

Scott nearly said 'yes.' He nearly told the man sitting in front of him that, yes, he'd endangered lives, lead people into danger, perverted the crusade for his people into something unrecognizable. The _only_ thing that stopped him, made him pause, was the fact that he could almost hear Sinister laughing as he opened his mouth, so he closed it again. "I'm just trying to make the world better — for mutants, humans, everyone."

"You gonna kill everybody to do it?"

" _No_ ," Scott said quickly, earnestly.

"Gonna blow somethin' up to do it?"

"No."

"Gonna rough people up to do it?"

He paused. "No." _Not anymore._

"Well then what's the problem?" Anton asked. He leaned back with his arms folded. "That big blue Avenger type was right. You're real lucky, 'cause not every cop's as forgivin' as I am. But then again, not every cop's got a mutie for a cousin." He leaned forward with a serious frown. "Or at least, I did."

"I'm sorry," Scott said, recognizing the tone in Anton's voice. _At least that explains it,_ he couldn't help but think, glad for some semblance of a reason.

Anton waved him off. "It was a long time ago, before I joined the force," he said, a bit quieter than before. He cleared his throat. "At any rate, wasn't like I was gonna let someone do the same thing to anybody else."

Scott knew he didn't have an answer for that, so he nodded wordlessly, though he felt the frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He wasn't sure this was any better, really. He didn't know what this man thought of him, of his team, of his goals — he didn't think he could live up to anyone's standards at this point. If this guy didn't think he was some big terrorist, the 'hero' label was almost as bad — Scott knew he'd just let him down.

"Now," Anton said after a moment, and Scott turned his attention back to the man in front of him. "Pheebs here says you can stay here long as you let her visit regularly and make sure you're recoverin' like you're s'pposed to." He indicated the gray-haired doctor, who quietly waved. "You still wanna leave in two weeks' time, ain't nobody gonna stop you. But you ain't leavin' in the state you're in, and I ain't gonna be the least bit happy if you sneak out anyhow and I gotta read about how you got your fool self beat to death 'cause you found a town that ain't got a cop like me, got that?"

"I hear you," Scott said, shaking his head at the situation in general. _At least it's a place to rest. Not the jail cell I thought it would be, but… this is better. Maybe._ "I just don't want to cause your family any trouble," he said.

"Don't you worry 'bout it," Anton said. "Folks 'round here learn right quick not to mess with me or my girls. Nobody's comin' after you, so you just heal up and try not to insult my sister-in-law turning down any of her cookin'. She'll be personally affronted."

Scott couldn't help but smile at that. "That I can do."


	6. Honestly, Mr. Summers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Annie is determined to take care of Scott, whether he wants her to or not. She's absolutely *convinced* that all ills can be solved by family stew recipes, apparently.

 

* * *

Scott must have drifted off again at some point, because it wasn't until Annie had returned from her errands that he woke up to the smell of something in the oven.

He glanced around the living room and was downright surprised to see that Anton wasn't there. If it had been him, picking up a strange, borderline criminal type, he wouldn't have just… left. And he especially wouldn't have left his sister-in-law _alone_ with the guy. What kind of crazy, weirdly trusting…?

But there Scott was, the only one in the little townhome with a brown-haired woman busily cooking away. He picked himself up a little higher so he could try to see over the counter, but his chest pulled with the motion, and he lay back down, still too tired to do much of anything. He wasn't sure if that was his injuries or whatever Hank had given him for them, though.

This Annie woman was busily humming as she worked, and by the time she pulled the cornbread out, she had clearly noticed that he was awake — and it didn't seem to stop her humming in the least as she flitted around the place, a flour-covered and well-used apron tied around her waist.

"Phoebe said you shouldn't have any problems eating, but just in case, I made stew," she reported to him at last when apparently she had finished with whatever she was working on. "You can have just the broth if it's an issue."

"It smells amazing," he said honestly.

"My mom's recipe," Annie told him, smiling broadly as she ladled out their portions. "My daddy always liked to put the cornbread in the stew. You want me to do that for you, or do you want it separate?"

"I really don't have a preference."

She raised her eyebrows at him for a moment before she shook her head and put the cornbread piece on top of the potatoes floating at the top of the stew, doing the same for herself before she brought both bowls over and sat down on the loveseat across from him once she was sure he had a good grip on the bowl — which was ridiculous. He wasn't invalid.

"So," she said, totally businesslike as she broke her cornbread into pieces into the stew, "is there somethin' I should know about? Some kinda X-Men business way up here nobody's heard about? That why you're up here?"

"No," he said, almost smirking. "No, I'm not with the X-Men anymore."

"So you came all the way up here to see the sights?"

"Not exactly," Scott said.

But when Scott didn't give her any more specifics, Annie made a 'go on' motion. "I'm not gonna play 20 questions guessin' why you came up here."

He couldn't help but smirk at the response. "It wasn't exactly my idea."

"So you're not a fan of Alaska?" she asked with almost a teasing smile.

"Ah, no — I'm actually from here."

"Shame," she said, definitely smiling now. "And I was prepared to like you."

He stared at her for a moment. "What… what are you doing in Anchorage, then?"

"That's where I got my first teaching job," she explained. "And I haven't been able to leave… those kids are just so darling I hate to even think of leaving 'em."

"What do you teach?" Scott asked, genuinely interested as he absently copied her movements, crushing the cornbread into the stew before he had any of it. He paused. "This is good."

"Of course it is — Mom's recipe, I already told you," Annie said, waving off the compliment easily. She took a bite of the stew before she broke into a grin. "And I teach Kindergarten."

He almost laughed at the mental image of this no-nonsense Southern woman with a bunch of Alaskan kids. "You must have some well-behaved five-year-olds."

"Oh, kids are easy," Annie said, leaning back in her chair. "As long as they know what you expect of them, they're little angels. Usually, anyway. Sometimes they just need a hug and a nap."

"Sounds like you have it all figured out."

"Years of practice," she said with a smile. They ate in silence for a little while after that, spoons clanking against the sides of their bowls. Scott hadn't realized how hungry he was until he wolfed down the entire bowl before he'd even thought twice about it, and Annie had already taken the bowl before he could say anything else.

"Seconds?"

"I'm fine."

"Mr. Summers." She raised an eyebrow his way. "If you're gonna stay here, you better get used to answering questions with something' a little more direct than whatever nonsense _that_ just was, because I don't beat around the bush with my kids. I'm certainly not going to put up with it from grown men. Now, do you want seconds?"

Scott shook his head. "If you don't mind," he said at last.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes as she poured him out a second bowl. "Honestly."

"I just don't want to impose," he tried to explain.

"Oh, honey, it's _so_ much easier to cook for two than it is to cook for one. Most of my family recipes feed a small army, and I _enjoy_ cooking, so don't you worry your head about it," she said as she brought the bowl back to him and then sat back down with her own stew. "So, what _did_ bring you here?"

"It's a long story," Scott told her honestly.

"You're not goin' anywhere anytime soon," she shot back.

He smirked. "No, but it's…" He trailed off. How to explain it?

But her expression had softened all of a sudden, and she leaned forward to rest one hand on his arm, startling him slightly as he glanced her way. "That's alright," she said softly. "My daddy used to get the same look talkin' 'bout the wars he fought in the Army. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. You hardly know me from Adam."

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Thanks."

She smiled at him as she finished her own stew, and the two of them ate in silence for a while. She finished first and got back up to start on the dishes, still somehow keeping enough of an eye on him that she was aware of when he'd finished as well so she could snatch up the bowl and wash that as well.

Scott started to get up to help, but he stopped short when he saw the withering glare she had on her face. "Don't you dare," she warned.

"You really don't have to—"

"Mr. Summers," she said in the exact same tone she'd used before, but she didn't even finish the sentence, just staring at him over the counter edge imperiously until he leaned back in his seat, his hands raised in defeat.

She nodded to herself and went back to what she was doing until, finally, he heard her shut off the sink, and she made her way over, grabbing a book from the side table and cracking it open. "I don't have cable, but you're welcome to any of the movies… and I've got a Netflix subscription," she said, indicating the television first and then the remote that she must have put on the floor by the couch when he was asleep.

"I'm… ah… not really much for…" He faltered, letting his gaze fall over the little movie collection a few feet away. Most of them were classic movies, though she had an impressive collection of _Magic School Bus_ and Disney movies, which he supposed were for the kids she taught. He wasn't usually much of a movie person — that was a whole two hours of sitting and not _doing_ anything, and it honestly made him uncomfortable unless he had it playing in the background while he was working on a project. (That was, in fact, how he'd seen every episode of _Star Trek_ — it had been playing while he'd been working on the blackbird. He couldn't remember who it was that had started it up, but he'd let it play on the laptop in the hangar until he'd seen all of it — or at least heard all of it.) But this woman was obviously trying hard to make him comfortable, so he searched until he found something that looked at least interesting.

_Steel Magnolias… Gone With the Wind… Pride and Prejudice…_

"It's just a suggestion, Mr. Summers," Annie said, and he looked up to see that she was watching him with her head tipped to one side and just the slightest spark of laughter in her eyes. "It wasn't a doctor's order or anythin'. I've got some good books if you'd rather read — or, I don't mind just chattin'."

"You can call me Scott," he said quickly — and not just because he preferred it that way. There was something about the way she called him "Mr. Summers" like it was an accusation.

"Alright then," she said with a smile, settling into her seat with her book. "Well, _Scott_ , there's a library a couple blocks thataway, so you just tell me what it is you wanna read or somethin' and I'll get it for you."

"I wouldn't want you to go to the tr-"

"That's the only setting that you have, isn't it?" Annie asked, shaking her head. "I think the response you're looking for is 'thank you'."

Scott could feel the slight red rise up in his cheeks, knowing she was right. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I really do appreciate all you've done."

"You're very welcome," Annie said, smirking to herself. "Now let's set a few ground rules, Mr. Summers—"

"Scott."

"—Scott. The way I was raised, if a guest leaves my place hungry and uncomfortable, that's on me, and I've done something wrong." She smiled his way. "You stay in my house, you're part of my family, for however long it is you stay."

Scott opened his mouth, intending to argue, but instead, he found himself smiling. "I get that, really," he said. "I just feel bad that I can't help."

She waved her hand at him. "I ain't gonna be the one to tell Phoebe you were pullin' her stitches and messin' up her good work just because you wanted to clean a dish."

He couldn't help but shake his head. Clearly, Annie wasn't going to let up in her relentless quest to baby him. He wasn't sure what to tell her — she was a Kindergarten teacher in Anchorage, so she couldn't have possibly known that he'd survived worse than this, even coming back from the dead. He'd be back on his feet in no time; he was sure.

"Besides," Annie said, getting up again and headed for the stairs, "I'm on summer break. And you, Mr. Summers, are the most interesting thing that's happened to me since my niece learned how to say my name."

"Happy to entertain," he muttered, shaking his head again.

"That's not what I meant," she laughed lightly. She was headed up the stairs when she called down to him, "I'm going to bring down a few books. You can take your pick, and I'll go to the library tomorrow if I don't have anything you like."

Scott just leaned back deeper into the couch. Maybe he should have gone with Hank. At least then, he would have been on familiar ground. This too-nice Southern woman… he just didn't know what to do with her.

* * *

Dr. Phoebe Kjar, who was apparently a friend of Annie's family, had clearly learned from watching Scott try to deck Hank, because when she stopped by the next day, she gently shook his arm to wake him up first.

He was sleeping a lot, not just because of the medications that both Phoebe and Hank had prescribed for him but because he had been so _exhausted_ when he got into town that it was a losing battle with his own body trying to stay awake for too long.

The doctor was quiet — Scott didn't think he'd heard her say more than a few words, most of which were commands as she directed him through her examination — until she had finished changing the white bandages that covered most of him and then checked his vitals. Finally, she nodded once. "You've got some of your color back," she observed, breaking from the silence and concentration of her exam.

Scott blinked at her in surprise and then nodded. "How soon do you think before I'm off bed arrest?"

Phoebe raised an eyebrow his way. "Sooner if you don't push yourself too far, too fast."

"I'm just looking for an estimate."

Phoebe let out a sigh and shook her head before she reached into her bag and pulled out a prescription bottle, which she rattled in front of his face. "Two of these a day," she instructed him. "When it's empty — and I _will_ find out if you don't empty it — then you can go back to whatever it was you were doing before you dropped into our town. Just don't expect me to put you back together again otherwise."

"I got it," Scott said with a little nod.

Phoebe watched him for a moment, one eyebrow quirked up until she finally packed up her bag — though she didn't leave immediately. Instead, she wound up in the entryway chatting quietly with Annie in tones that Scott couldn't quite make out from where he was, though it looked like Phoebe was showing Annie some of what she'd brought… yeah, that definitely looked like instructions on how to wrap bandages. And then when Phoebe left behind plenty of materials, Scott was sure that was what was going on.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Great. As if that woman wasn't already doing enough just trying to feed him and take care of him like it was some sort of mission…

He'd already tried to get up last night, though, and it had _not_ worked well for him. So he couldn't just _leave_. It was very frustrating being stuck that way.

"Oh, stop that," Annie said as she sat down in her usual spot on the loveseat. She was nearly finished with her book and had come prepared with a second — the _Scarlet Pimpernell_ — as well as a bowl of popcorn.

"Stop what?"

"That." She gestured at him. "It's not the end of the world if someone besides Phoebe knows how to help 'round here. She's just concerned someone might catch on if they catch her headed here all the time."

Scott rubbed his forehead again. "Right."

"Oh, honestly." Annie rolled her eyes at him, but whatever it was that he'd done to earn another 'honestly' — which he was quickly learning was her way of telling him he was doing something she disagreed with heavily — she didn't tell him. Instead, she rearranged the way she was sitting and gestured at the stack of books on the table, with the collected _Sherlock Holmes_ mysteries on top. "Anything you like in there, or are you just reading out of sheer boredom?"

"I like mysteries," he said with a shrug as he reached for the _Sherlock Holmes_ volume. It was heavier, since it was a collection, and he balanced it on his knees as he found his place — and didn't expand on his comment. He _did_ enjoy mysteries, trying to work out the deductive reasoning before the end, though he felt like Arthur Conan Doyle often cheated, putting in details during the end reveal that simply weren't relevant or apparent in the story itself.

"I've got Hercules Poirot when you're done with that," she offered. "About fifty short stories in a collection, not to mention a few novels."

Scott nodded at that. "Thanks."

"I like Agatha Christie more than Sherlock Holmes anyway," Annie pressed on when it was clear she wasn't going to get more than that short response from him. "Her stories are more common sense than… whatever it is that Doyle _says_ is deductive reasoning."

Scott looked up her way at that. "Yeah?"

"Oh, I'd much rather read a mystery that's solved because Poirot knows the social place of a maid than because Holmes worked out some logical fallacy of an argument."

"I thought you taught Kindergarten," he said with a little smirk as he watched her get worked up.

"I can have hobbies outside my work," she said with a little sniff that just had him smirking a little wider.

"I didn't say you couldn't."

"You'd better not have," she said, settling deeper into the couch with an imperious look before she wound up lost in the pages of her book, and Scott returned to reading about _The Adventure of the Speckled Band._


	7. On Your Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott is starting to learn a little more about Annie, and Annie tries to get him to relax into having some semblance of a conversation with her.

 

* * *

 By that second night, Scott felt like at least Annie was starting to relax a little in that she didn't seem to be making it a point to spend as much time in the living room with him as possible. It probably helped that she'd gotten a phone call halfway through the day — her other sister, she'd explained, who still lived in Atlanta close to her parents — and spent a couple hours upstairs talking animatedly. She seemed to be getting regular check-ins from her family — and he was starting to get the idea that it wasn't just because she had a strange man in her house.

He hadn't been able to hear the exact words — and he hadn't wanted to eavesdrop, so he pointedly didn't concentrate on them too hard — but she came back down in a great mood to make another meal, this time a casserole. He didn't recognize any of the songs she hummed as she worked in the kitchen, but she seemed perfectly content just to go about her routine as normal, which was honestly a relief to Scott. He didn't want her to feel burdened while he was stuck there or to feel like she had to change anything.

She still made her way over with two plates to set down on the coffee table, which she scooted across the floor until it was within arm's reach for both of them, and then went back to get cups. Once she was totally settled, she just looked up at him halfway expectantly, and he returned the look with his head tipped to one side, not sure what it was that she was waiting for. Maybe she was religious and waiting for grace — but she hadn't done that for other meals...

Finally, she let out a little sigh of disbelief and shook her head. "You are a horrible conversationalist."

"Sorry," he said, looking down at the perfectly-prepared plate in front of him with a sheepish shrug.

She shook her head again, leaned back in her chair with her plate tucked up at her chest level, perfectly comfortable and just watching him. "You know," she said at last. "Most people have homecomings that are a little less… destructive."

"It's a long story," he said.

"I'm just wondering what on earth you did to make this godforsaken wasteland mad at you," she continued, the smile stretching on as she spoke. "What, did you hit a moose?"

He couldn't help but smirk. "No."

"Well, you must have," she said with a little nod. "You pissed off the permafrost somehow, and from where I'm standing, you've done a piss-poor job planning anything further than going back out and getting pummeled again."

"That's a mouthful," he said.

"I can also do Peter Piper and 'she sells seashells'," Annie replied without missing a beat, the smile stretching on even wider as she sat up straighter. "Really, though, I know you want to leave. Clearly you don't want to stay in my living room a second longer than necessary—"

"That's not true," he said with a little frown, though… he knew he was lying the second he said it.

She gave him a sharp look. "Mr. Summers."

He cleared his throat under the look and tried again. "It's just that… I don't want…" He sighed, frustrated, and rubbed his forehead as he tried to work out how to explain that he didn't want her to go to any trouble — or _get in_ any trouble.

 _This was so much easier with Jean,_ he couldn't help thinking. Not that Jean had _needed_ the explanation, with or without the psychic connection. She didn't do… whatever this was Annie was doing with the cooking and the conversation and the overly nice… He didn't understand it.

Annie sighed and shook her head at him, falling back into silence for a long moment as Scott floundered for how to approach his next words without hurting her feelings.

"Alright," she said at last. "Well, where is it that you're so eager to head off to? Maybe I can at least make sure you have the means to get there — and the clothes for the climate."

"You don't ha-"

"Excuse me?"

He closed his mouth. _Right._ "Ah… I don't exactly know," he finally admitted.

"You just know you don't want to be _here_."

He shook his head. "That's not it."

She let out a noise of annoyance. "Are you always this short-sighted?"

His head came up at that, and he stared at her. "No…" He stared at her — he's been accused of looking too far ahead, of overthinking, but short-sightedness?

"So you're telling me you don't know where you're going, you've got no plan, and you want to waltz out my door half-healed until some other bozos decide to take their anger out on you, and that's not short-sighted?"

"I'm not planning on running into anymore bozos."

"Uh-huh." She watched him for a moment, her arms crossed. "And what, exactly, is the point of your masochistic world tour?"

He stared at her. He… didn't even know where to start. Especially because he didn't actually know the answer himself. _Is there even a point?_ he couldn't help wondering, especially since he knew the whole thing had started just as a desire to _leave_. There hadn't ever really been an end goal or destination.

"Right." She got up and poured more water into both of their cups. "So tell me again why you want so badly to leave."

"I… don't want to put you through any trouble," he tried to explain, which only got another little huff.

"Well, unless you're planning on traveling the world getting beat up in every bar you go to, I think it's time to rethink your life choices."

He almost smirked. "That's sort of what I was doing when I decided to travel."

"Well, rethink them again."

That did get an honest smirk. "I probably should."

Annie nodded thoughtfully and watched him over the top of her plate for a while longer before she said, "You know, there's a temp agency in town if you want something to get your feet underneath you. And I've got a guest room. I mean, it's full up with a half-built desk and a treadmill I sometimes remember to use, but I'm sure Anton could help me move things around…"

"What?" He stared at her, wondering if he was hearing her right. She'd just been mad at him, hadn't she?

"Well, if you don't have any plans, seeing as you don't have a place, and seeing as people still make angry mobs in this day and age for some reason, I'm not opposed to letting you stay safe here until you have something a little more solid than 'wherever the wind takes me'," she said as if this was perfectly reasonable. "Of course, you'd need to get your own place eventually, but as I understand it, you need a job first. I think the library is hiring down the street from my elementary school…"

He couldn't help but stare more openly at her as she went on. "What…?"

"Have you ever had a job before that wasn't being an X-Man?"

"Not… really?" he offered, completely thrown off track by the turn the conversation had taken. "I taught at the school."

"Perfect," she said, nodding along. "When you feel up to it, maybe we can work up a little resume for you and hunt down a few places..."

"Wait a minute," Scott said, holding up both hands after he set his plate on the coffee table. "When did I say I was staying in Anchorage?"

She grinned his way. "Then you have somewhere else in mind?"

"No, but I think I should have a say in where I _stay_ ," he argued.

Instead of arguing with him, though, Annie just broke into laughter, and he blinked at her, once more taken off guard. "Mr. Summers," she finally managed to say, "I think that's the first real yes or no answer you've given me since you got here."

He stared at her.

She laughed again as she got up to take the plates to the sink. "It's just something to think about. You don't _have_ to do any of it. Of course, if you're not going to go gallivanting with X-Men and Avengers, you will have to settle into _something…._ I'll still help you draw up a resume, but you go wherever you want to go, honey. We can look up jobs if you like. Since clearly sitting here reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle isn't agreeing with you."

He flushed at the little jab. "It's not your fault; I just… don't like sitting still."

"Clearly." She smiled at him over the counter and the sound of rushing water. "You can borrow my laptop tomorrow, alright? We'll get you wherever it is you want to be, Mr. Summers. And the sooner you accept _help_ , the better off you'll be." Her smile brightened. "After all, the only thing you've got on your resume _is_ a teaching job. And that is something I _can_ help with."

Scott shook his head, wondering how on earth he'd found himself in this conversation — and how he could explain to her just how very, very off-base she was. "No one will want to hire me."

"Well, that is just defeatist," she shot back.

"But true."

"It is if you convince yourself you can never apply anywhere," she countered with a sharpness to her tone that she rarely used, at least in his short experience with the woman.

"Annie…" He shook his head.

"I'm just trying to help, Scott," she said quietly, though he could see over the top of the counter that she was leaning in, her eyes bright. "I just… it just makes me mad that people think they can run you out of town or … or keep you from _living_ or…"

He couldn't help smirking. "Yeah. Kinda makes me mad too."

She let out a noise that was halfway annoyed as she finished with the dishes, though Scott had to frown when she came back around the counter with Phoebe's bag in hand.

"Oh please," she said, waving off the frown easily when she saw it. "I promise I am so unimpressed with the strong, silent suffering thing."

He felt the corners of his mouth turn up. "It's not that," he said.

"If you say it's that you don't want to impose, I swear on all that is holy…"

He chuckled and held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright. Then I won't say that."

She watched him for a moment longer before she let out a light laugh as she dropped into the seat next to him. To his relief, she didn't pull out any of the rolls of white bandages, but she did pull out the cream Phoebe had left to treat the burns on his face and hands.

"So," she said as she settled down with a determined look on her face. "How does this work?"

That had him right back to nervous again. "You don't know?"

"Well, I know about the glasses and visor that Avenger left here, but how do I get past them to do this part?" she asked.

He blinked and let out a breath. _Oh. Right._ "You can… I'll just close my eyes and take the glasses off. No special procedure or anything."

She nodded. "Alright then. Go ahead." She waited and watched expectantly, and he let out a long breath before he carefully reached up and took off the glasses Hank had left him, his eyes tightly shut as always when he was without his glasses or visor.

He heard her let out a low whistle when she saw the damage there. "What happened anyway? Did that… thing… whatever it was you were wearing before … what, did it malfunction or…?"

"It was supposed to stop me from using my powers or being able to see," he explained in a flat tone. He didn't really want to go into it, but he could tell from the little noise Annie made that he was probably going to have to.

"Why?" she asked, a touch of disdain in her tone at the thought.

"Well, like I said, I didn't exactly choose to come here," he said quietly. He felt the couch move beside him as Annie sat down closer and _very_ gently started to rub the cold cream over the skin under his eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear it," she said, matching his quiet tone as she continued her work, gentle the entire time as if she was worried to press too hard.

_Or worried I might open my eyes…_

"Hazard of the job," he said.

"A job you no longer have," she pointed out.

He had to smirk at that. "Yeah, but leaving the job doesn't mean the problems disappear just like that. Those kind of problems will follow you around — even if I'm not on a team anymore." He paused as Annie finished what she was doing and reached for his glasses, only for her to bat his hand away.

"You'll rub it off."

He sighed and withdrew his hand, leaning back as he tried his best to be still as Annie carefully unwrapped his arms to apply the cream there. He didn't like not being able to see what she was doing, and he held his breath without realizing it until—

"Sorry, am I hurting you?"

He let out the breath in a rush so he could say, "What?"

"Am I hurting you?" she asked again. "You need to tell me if I am; don't just sit there all tense to spare my feelings."

"No, no," he said quickly. "You're fine. I just hate being blind." He didn't tell her why, didn't go into details. She didn't need to know that sitting there, not being able to see, while someone… He knew Annie wasn't Sinister — was the furthest thing from it — but he couldn't help feeling trapped. Too tired to run away, with someone working him over, even if it was to help him heal…

Annie paused, and for a long moment, Scott's words hung between them until, finally, she moved beside him, and then he felt her press his glasses into his hands. She leaned back again, creasing the fabric of the couch so he could hear her, quietly waiting, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you were worried about the burn cream," he said.

"I am, but I am _not_ going to let you just…" She made a little noise in the back of her throat. "Next time, we'll do your eyes last."

He could feel his cheeks burning as he gripped the glasses. He didn't put them on — since Annie was right; the cream would rub off — but it felt better having them there anyway. "Sorry."

"It's really not a problem," Annie promised, hesitating for a moment before she continued on with unwrapping his arms. "I think everyone has a problem with this medical stuff, honestly," she said.

Scott wasn't sure if it was her talking to him or the fact that he had his glasses that was helping keep his breathing even, but whatever it was, it was working.

"You should meet my sister, Theresa. She's _horrible_ around needles."

He smirked a little as he settled back. "That's the one in Atlanta, right?"

Annie let out a delighted sort of laugh. "Right. The smart one."

"You really don't like Alaska, do you?" he asked, trying to relax a little more so that he didn't alarm Annie any further.

"It's _too cold_ ," Annie said as if this was the most obvious answer in the world.

"So why don't you move?"

"And leave the school?" Annie asked, affronted.

"Ah, right," he said with a little nod and a small smirk. He could relate.

Annie laughed at his answer and then got right back down to work. "Anyway, Theresa really was horrible with doctors. She'd have to take her husband with her every time she got blood drawn in case she fainted — which she did a couple of times."

"Everybody's got something," Scott said, nodding along with her story.

"Well, I used to tease her horribly, because she was going to the doctor every week or two at one point when she and Craig were trying to have children — of course, when they gave up that path and adopted their sweet little boy, that meant no more needles, and no more teasing…" Annie trailed off as she turned his hand over so she could apply the cream there. "Does this happen to you often?"

"Not this specifically, no. More often than I'd like, though," he admitted.

"Once is too often," she said in a quiet tone.

He nodded seriously. "No kidding."

Annie cleared her throat after a beat of silence had passed. "Right, anyway, really, everyone's got their hangups when it comes to doctors. Even Phoebe hates getting her finger pricked, if you'd believe it."

"Yeah, I have a friend who's a doctor," Scott said with a little smile. "And it seems to me they make the worst patients."

"I've heard that too," she laughed lightly. She paused as she reached for his other arm and started to unwrap it as well. "Which friend is that? The blue one?"

"Beast, yeah."

"He seemed nice."

Scott raised an eyebrow in honest surprise. "You … I thought you didn't like him," he said.

"Why, because I think Avengers are ridiculous getting worked up over sweet, half-dead X-Men like you instead of, oh, actual bad guys?"

"I thought…" He trailed off and shook his head.

"And what about you, Mr. Summers? You've heard all about my family," Annie said as she worked on his wrist. "What about yours?"

Scott paused, not sure where to begin. His first thought was that, no, there wasn't anyone, but that wasn't quite true. Nominally speaking, anyway. Last he'd checked, Alex was off somewhere in space, and so was Corsair… He hadn't heard from Cable in ages… Rachel was probably at the school still, but he honestly didn't _know_ ….

"We don't… really talk," he said at last.

"That's a shame," Annie said, letting out a little sigh of a hum as she finished what she was doing and patted his shoulder. "Alright, we'll wrap that when it's dry. Not so bad, right?"

He couldn't help but smile at that. "Yeah."

She squeezed his shoulder lightly before she got up, and he could hear her moving around upstairs, though by the time the burn cream had set in enough that he could put his glasses back on, she was already back — this time with her laptop and a few notebooks, which she set out on the dining room table "for tomorrow" before she sat down again and helped him to get his arms wrapped again.

He watched her for a while as she worked, still not entirely sure what he was supposed to _do_ with her. She seemed to be determined to get him back on his feet in any way she could, literally and figuratively, and while he appreciated it, he just… didn't know why she was going _out of her way_ for him. When she finally sat back down in front of him and pulled out a little roll of bandages, he let out a small breath.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're very welcome," she said, her tone warm and rich as she kept right on working, leaving Scott to simply stare after her some more.

He was going to figure out a way to repay her, he decided. He just didn't know what he'd do just yet.


	8. Stain Remover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott cleans up well and Annie definitely noticed and is doing a lot of blushing, which goes COMPLETELY unnoticed by our resident dunderhead. *smacks Scott in the head with a newspaper*

 

* * *

The next morning, after Annie had started the coffee, she sat down in front of Scott with Phoebe's bag, though she didn't make a move to open it. Her expression was perfectly businesslike as she looked him over before she said, finally, "There's a tub upstairs if you can make the trip."

He stared at her in surprise before his mind caught up with what she'd said and he had the sense to look properly sheepish. He hadn't even thought about how he must have looked — _smelled_ — after… well, Hank had said it had been a couple weeks with Sinister, and then the past couple of days at her place…

He pushed himself up, first on his elbows and then the rest of the way up until he was sitting, acutely aware that Annie was watching him the whole time with her teeth worrying over her bottom lip and her breath held in her chest. He was half holding his breath too as he got to his feet, but he was, thankfully, _much_ more steady than he'd been the last time he tried that.

It was a relief, frankly.

Annie looked like she might try to offer her help, but she was, amazingly, refraining from doing just that as Scott paced a short path just to get used to it and then headed upstairs, more than grateful for the handrail that led all the way up, before he found the guest bathroom in the hall and drew a bath.

He was surprised how worn out a trip up the stairs had him — he hadn't realized he still had that much healing to do. But on the other hand, he was grateful for the chance to get clean, and honestly, after scrubbing off a lot of the dried blood, he looked a lot less… worrisome.

 _That should probably help Annie's blood pressure,_ he thought with a little smirk when he saw his reflection in the mirror.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find that Annie had laid out new clothes, folded in front of the door and waiting for him, so he pulled them inside and changed quickly. The jeans were a little too big and slightly too long, but he rolled them up at the bottom and tightened the belt — and did the same with the slightly-too-big shirt.

But being clean and upright and moving was already doing him wonders, and he couldn't help smiling a bit to himself as he made his way back downstairs, where Annie had already made herself some sweet tea to go with her cereal. She was seated at the table with the laptop open, her chin resting on her hand, and she looked up in surprise when he made his way to the coffee pot to pour himself a mug — now that he was up, he wanted to _stay_ up.

She broke into a little smile his way. "You clean up well, Mr. Summers."

He hid his expression behind his first sip of coffee, since he wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Thanks for the clothes."

"I had to guess on the size. I was going off of Anton's height, but you're not as wide as he is, and I think a little shorter, but it's hard to tell, seein' as you were unconscious when he brought you in," Annie explained in a rush.

"It's not too bad," he said. "A little long."

"I wasn't sure," she said again as she pushed out a chair for him to sit with his coffee. "You _look_ tall… but Anton's 6'6", so it's hard to gauge anyone…"

"He's got three inches on me," Scott told her with an honest smile — he wasn't usually the shorter one. "Really, I appreciate the thought either way."

She beamed at him for a moment before she pulled her chair around so that she could be closer to him, bringing her laptop along with her. "I got started on a job search locally — I hope you don't mind. I wasn't sure what you taught at the school, so I was just looking generally, but if you give me a subject, we can expand it to other cities," she said, speaking fast enough that Scott couldn't get a word in edgewise. "I'm sure Theresa could look in her area, and of course, I have a few friends from school that found schools away from the tundra that I can ask if you like…"

He raised both eyebrows at the work she'd already done as he looked over her shoulder. She'd been right — besides teaching jobs, there were a few temp positions, clerical, that sort of thing…. He read through the list, not sure where to even start with something like this.

"So, were you more general education, or did you specialize?" Annie asked after she had apparently decided she'd given him enough time to soak in just how very lost he was.

"Ah…" He rubbed his neck with the hand that wasn't holding his coffee mug. "See, I taught at the Xavier Institute." She looked up at him and blinked through long eyelashes, obviously waiting for more of an explanation than that, and he let out his breath again. "It's not … exactly… a normal school," he said. "I taught tactics." _And human-mutant relations, but that… that just sounds ridiculous considering … everything._

"Oh!" She straightened up as the understanding hit her, and she nodded quickly. "Yeah, that's not much of a marketable skill, is it? I mean, unless you're with the military, and I don't think—"

"Yeah, that would be a no," he agreed, nodding.

"Well, I'm sure we can find you something anyway," Annie said decisively, scooting back in her chair and patting Scott's shoulder on her way past before she returned with not only the coffee pot but a plate of toast — enough for both of them — so they could get down to work.

This — this was something Scott could wrap his head around, and once they got started, he was honestly enjoying himself, even if it was totally new to him. The search itself had its own kinds of rules that were simple enough to learn and wrap his head around — some jobs that he couldn't apply to because he wasn't qualified or certified, others that he just wasn't interested in, and so on. By the time morning had stretched into afternoon, they had a decent list of several different places — not all of them local, either.

When he was through, Annie looked over his shoulder and shook her head, reaching around him to snatch the pen out of his hand and scratch through a couple local places. "Mmm, no. You don't want to work there."

"What, trying to get rid of me already?" he asked with half a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "No, I just know the foremen there, and they are _jerks_. It had nothing to do with them being local. Honestly."

His smirk widened at the 'honestly'. "So, do you just know everyone in town, or...?"

"I make it a point to meet my kids' parents," Annie explained. "Sometimes it helps explain a behavioral issue or two, but mostly, I just want to make sure we're all on the same page, and I want them to feel like they can trust me with their kids."

"Those are lucky kids."

"I hope so," Annie agreed with a little smile and a flush to her cheeks.

"Really," Scott said, hoping his brain caught up to his mouth as he tried to find the words to the compliment he meant to give. _This was easier when I could just… think about it._ "I mean… you obviously love what you do. Not everybody gets that."

"I don't do anything I don't believe in, Mr. Summers—"

"Scott."

"—and I don't intend to start anytime soon." She paused, smiled his way, and put her hand on his arm, lightly. "And you shouldn't, either."

He couldn't help but smirk at that. _She has no idea…_ "That's sort of why I left home. Trying to figure out how to do what I believe in."

"You'll figure it out," she assured him, her smile widening before she turned her attention back to the laptop.

By the time afternoon had turned into evening, Scott had a decent — if bare-bones — resume and a few places to send it to, which he did as Annie had at some point moved from the table to the kitchen. He hadn't even noticed that she was humming again — it was almost background noise, and such a habit for her that three nights of listening to it had him actually fairly used to it — until he sent off the last application and pushed back from the table to stretch, only just realizing how late it was.

Annie had on her flour- and flower-covered apron again as she hummed and slid through the preparations, pulling the well-crusted chicken from the oven with one hand as Scott made his way over, looking over the pans of corn and green beans.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No, thank you," Annie said, her voice the same tune as the song she'd been humming a moment before. "I have a method to my madness, I promise. All that's left is to plate it, anyway."

"Maybe next time."

"No, really — I like to cook alone," Annie insisted as she bumped him with her hip to scoot around him. "It's relaxing. You'd only be in the way of my madness method."

He watched her get the plates and silverware and noted where they were so he could help the next time before he slipped around her to grab both plates and take them to the table once she was done, leaving the cups behind for her to bring. "Well, at least let me help clean up," he said as he set the plates down.

"You're not supposed to be up and about yet."

"I feel better when I'm moving," he said. "Besides, I want to help."

She sat down across from him and considered him for a moment, her chin resting in one hand before she finally nodded once. "Alright, but if you pass out on my kitchen floor, I'm never going to let you live it down."

"I promise not to do that," he said, chuckling despite himself.

"That's all well and good for you, but you're much bigger than me, and I'm not going to catch you if you go down," she said with a little spark of laughter in her eyes.

He shook his head. "I'm not going to do that either."

The spark turned into a real laugh as she raised her forkful of green beans his way in a salute of sorts. "That's right you won't."

He smirked down at his food and shook his head. He _still_ wasn't entirely sure what to do with Annie, but at least he felt like he was starting to get a handle on her sense of humor. A very, very small handle on it.

"Do you mind if we watch a movie tonight?" Annie asked after the two of them had eaten in silence for a while.

"No, it's your TV."

"Yes, but you're the one living on the couch."

"It's not going to bother me," he promised. "As long as you won't be offended if I fall asleep during it," he added.

"Well, now I'm insulted a little bit. Are my tastes that bad? You don't even know what I'm picking," she laughed.

He smirked. "No, I'm just tired." And that much was entirely true. He had spent the whole day off that couch, and while he felt _so_ much better for it, he was also starting to feel the effect of spending a whole day off bed rest already. _Two days instead of two weeks. I'm surprised Hank isn't already back to tear my head off._

"Well, I'll try to pick something that won't bore you to tears," she said, smiling around her bite of chicken.

"And I'll try not to insult you falling asleep too fast."

She laughed, her eyes practically sparkling with it, as she shook her head at the sentiment. "Just for that, we're watching _The Great Escape_."

"That actually sounds exciting," he said with a little smirk. He'd heard of it but hadn't ever sat down and watched it.

"It is," she said. "But it's also practically a lifetime long."

"Well, if it's exciting, maybe I won't fall asleep," he teased.

"We'll see," she said, still laughing quietly to herself.

He was honestly looking forward to it by the time the meal was over, though he finished first and made it a point to head over to the sink before Annie could get there to start washing up. When she caught up with him, grinning, she just tipped her plate into the sink and shook her head. "I thought you said you were tired," she teased.

"I told you I was going to help with the dishes, so…" He gestured with one hand to the plate he was rinsing off now.

She smirked at that before she got to work putting the leftovers from their meal into containers to put in the fridge. "I usually do leftovers on Fridays," she called over her shoulder. "Is that alright with you?"

"Fine by me," he said with a nod.

She grinned and went back to sweeping through the kitchen, and before long, she was humming again. She had stacked the pots in the side of the sink he wasn't using before she slipped around to the other side of him to load the dishwasher with what he'd done so far.

Finally, he had to ask, "What are you humming?"

She looked up with her mouth parted in an 'o' shape. "Oh, if it's bothering you, I can stop."

"No, no, not at all," he assured her quickly, which got another bright smile out of her. "I just don't think I recognize any of what you're singing."

"Just… music I grew up listening to," she said, flushing slightly. "My mom was a big Bing fan, but my dad was more Johnny Cash."

He nodded at that, going back to what he was doing, though he didn't notice that she was still flushed.

"Actually, I was singing something a little more recent," she blurted out, and he looked back up at her to see that she was standing with one hand on the other arm, rubbing it self-consciously.

"Really, I don't mind. I was just curious what you were singing — I don't want you to _stop_ ," he assured her as soon as he saw the way she was looking.

She held his gaze for a second before she flushed again and went back to loading the dishwasher as he finished scrubbing the last of the pots, though she didn't go back into her humming, and when he turned off the water, he was shaking his head.

"Seriously, it doesn't bother me. At all."

"Oh, yeah, I know," she said quickly. "It's just that you pointed out I was doing it, and now I'm thinking about it…"

He had to chuckle as he dried his hands off. "I'll try not to do that again."

"What, ask questions?" she shot back, some of the teasing glint coming back. "Please don't. I tell my kids all the time that there's no such thing as a bad question."

He chuckled quietly to himself as they hit the living room — where, he noticed, the couch looked just as cleaned up as he did, with a new blanket folded at the foot of it and no sign of what he knew had to be the evidence of a pretty bloody beat-down.

He glanced at her, but before he could ask, she waved her hand at him. "Oh please. Like I've never had to get bloodstains out of my couch."

"What?"

"I have a police officer for a brother-in-law, and I grew up with two sisters. I also know how to get blood out of clothes," she said with a smirk. "Or don't you have any women at that school of yours?"

He let out a breath of a laugh as he sat down on the couch, where immediately, he could feel how tired he was. An entire day of humoring Annie with a job search he was sure would get him nowhere had actually really taken it out of him.

After Annie started up the old black and white movie, Scott was surprised when she didn't settle into the loveseat that she'd been occupying since he met her but instead wrapped herself up in the blanket she'd so carefully folded at the end of the couch and sat down next to him as the movie started up.

He didn't say anything about it, though, just leaned back into the couch cushions as the opening music started up. The movie was old enough that the credits were at the beginning, which wasn't exactly doing wonders for his ability to stay awake, though when he caught Annie smirking his way when he started to drift, he just shook his head at her and made it a point not to let his head drift onto his chest again.

Though ... she wouldn't notice if he closed his eyes...

He did just that and fell silent, focused on just relaxing rather than anything else — and he almost missed the beginning of the movie's plot because of it. It started out with a silent title card explanation, after all.

He shifted so he was sitting up a little taller, though despite his best efforts, he only made it through Steve McQueen's escape and capture for his scouting mission before he really did drift off, his head tipped back on the back of the couch, and he didn't wake up again until the movie was over and Annie was gone, though she'd left the blanket behind for him.

He smirked to himself as he pulled the blanket over his shoulders and lay down properly. It smelled like flour.


	9. The Other Hale Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott somehow finds himself pulled into an impromptu family game night. He has no idea how this happened to him, or why Annie's sister is giving him a serious side-eye.

 

* * *

The next day went more or less the same way. Annie made a few calls to some friends of hers around the town, and Scott wracked his brain for something that he could do to be useful. He insisted on helping to clean up after meals, at least, and whatever else he could do around the house, but he really was trying to find something that he could do to earn his keep. He felt bad that Annie was doing so much, and it couldn't have been easy to suddenly switch to buying groceries for twice as many people.

He wondered briefly when he'd started thinking about contributing as if this was a long-term arrangement, but if he thought about it too long, he was convinced he was going to mess this up somehow and half ready to leave, so he tried not to think about it too much.

When they weren't combing through the help wanted ads and searching online — he was grateful that Annie didn't say anything when she noticed that he had narrowed his search to the Anchorage area — Annie would sit next to him on the couch with her feet tucked up underneath her as she told him stories about her family and tried to get stories out of him as well.

He was more interested in listening to her stories, though. She and her sisters just sounded so _close_. Theresa and her husband worked in Atlanta — both of them for the WHO — while Annie's parents watched their little grandson during the day. ("He's darling. His name is Oman, and he's painfully shy, but he knows everyone's names. He _can_ talk, but he doesn't really talk to anyone but his pappaw and his dad.") And then there was Rachel, who lived five minutes away and stayed home with the two girls. Leslie Ann was set to start Kindergarten in Annie's class that year, and Mary Beth was learning to count to ten and what sounds animals made.

It was obvious she loved every one of them the way she talked about them, and it was even more obvious how much she was loved as she talked about how Rachel, the oldest of the three Hale sisters, had come up to take care of her baby sister when Annie had moved all the way up to Anchorage on her own. Or about how Anton had stepped in on more than one occasion if he thought any catcalling was getting out of hand — for Rachel or for Annie. Or about how Theresa and her husband would travel the world on assignment and would come back with new recipes that they could add to their steadily growing stash.

Scott didn't feel like he had much that could match up to Annie's stories, especially not when they were filled with so much loving detail, like the fact that Leslie Ann was already missing her first tooth but it wouldn't grow in for a long time because it simply wasn't ready yet — Mary Beth had thrown a bottle and knocked it out.

He tried to tell her about the team back in Westchester, since that, really, was home for him. He told her the story of meeting Bobby — and how much trouble they'd gotten themselves into — and before he could say anything further, she had already asked him to do the same for how he'd met Hank, since that was the only one of his friends that she had met so far.

But he really was more interested in Annie's stories, and at his prompting, she told him about how Leslie Ann had been just a few months old when she graduated college and how her first word had been 'no,' to the consternation of both of her parents, especially when her second word was 'stop' and her third was 'mine'. Rachel was horrified, and Annie thought it was hilarious.

He was grinning all the way through her animated storytelling — which continued even as she went to the kitchen and came back with Phoebe's bag, and then it continued as she pulled out bandages and cream, and it continued all the way up through unwrapping the bandages he was wearing — though she stopped her story about the last time Anton had gotten desk duty for crossing the chief ("I'm sure he's on desk duty again right now, but pretend you don't know that for the sake of his pride; he likes to brag about pissing off the chief on his own.") when she finished with his arms.

"Phoebe said we have to change those too," she said in a suddenly quieter tone than she had been using before as she gently tapped one finger on his chest.

He nodded wordlessly at that, and he would have just slipped his shirt over his shoulders if she hadn't been hesitating so much. "I can do it myself if you're uncomfortable," he promised.

"I really should…" She paused and bit her lip.

He laughed. "It's fine," he said, already getting up to head to the bathroom.

"Oh, sit back down and stop laughing at me," she said, tugging on his hand until he did just that, still smirking slightly.

"Really, you don't have to do anything you don't want to," he chuckled.

He could tell even through the red lenses that she was blushing, so he gently pushed her hands back and did most of the unwrapping himself — that was the easy part anyway, since it didn't matter if it got messed up as it was coming off. He checked himself over quickly, as much as he could see, and had to smirk when it really did look like Hank and Phoebe's work had done him some real good. He could already tell the difference, and the bruising was starting to look more yellow than deep purple.

"Do you think you'll need to go to the hospital after all?" Annie asked with a bit of trepidation, and he almost laughed.

"No, this is better. A lot better," he promised, though that seemed to have the opposite effect on Annie as he'd intended as she fell into a frown. "I promise, it's not usually this bad. I just had a really awful run of luck before you met me."

"Clearly," she said with a weak attempt at a smile.

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said as he reached past her to the fresh wrappings. "Unless you think I'm going to run into worse luck if I get that job at the bagel factory."

"You _might_ ," she said, waving both hands at him, though it was obvious she was laughing by the shake in her voice. "I've never seen someone so… so…"

"Occupational hazard," he said with a little laugh and a shrug.

"Not anymore," she argued.

"You never know. I saw that library posting. Sounds vicious."

She stared at him for a moment in disbelief before she threw the roll of bandages in her hand at him, and he laughed as he caught it one-handed. "You're clearly fine," she said, rolling her eyes.

He grinned at her as he started unrolling the bandages, and he'd just started work on rewrapping the bandages when she finally batted his hands away and directed him to sit up so that she could reach all the way around him. He could tell she was blushing from the heat in her cheeks but didn't say anything until he could slip the shirt back over his shoulders.

She brushed both hands through her hair quickly and then just let out an airy sort of laugh. "Sorry. This is just not the sort of thing I was expecting to do with my weekend."

"Sorry about that."

"Oh, don't… it's fine," she said, pushing her hair back once more. "It's just not the usual Friday activity." She flushed a bit more before she cleared her throat and set her attention to dabbing the cream over his arms and hands. He felt bad for embarrassing her, so he didn't say anything

"Alright… we just… need to do your eyes again," she said haltingly, and Scott obligingly took off the glasses Hank had left him.

Annie worked quietly, applying the cold stuff over his face, and he didn't press her, just leaving her to her work. She was almost finished before she worked up to speaking again. "What… I mean… is it strange? The way your powers work?"

"Not much stranger than anybody else's," he said.

"But you can't… I mean, can you still see… I know you can see, I mean—"

"Yeah, I can see fine. Just have a little trouble with colors," he said with a self-deprecating smirk. "And obviously, whenever the glasses or visor comes off, I can't see a thing."

She let out a little sound like a sigh as she thought it over in silence while she finished with his eyes. "That sounds frustrating."

"Not really," he said. "You learn to cope."

She let out another little sigh and rested one hand on his shoulder. For a while, the two of them were quiet — long enough that Scott found himself wondering what she was thinking — before she finally chuckled to herself. "And I could have been wearing horribly clashing clothes this whole time, and you'd have never known."

"I can see different hues," he tried to explain. "Brighter colors, more contrast, that's easy."

"So you would have called me out on my fashion sense."

"I wouldn't have said a word, but I'd have known about it," he said with a smirk.

She chuckled again, and he heard her pack up Phoebe's bag and get to her feet while he was stuck waiting for the burn medicine. There was the clang of dishes in the kitchen as she heated up a few leftovers for dinner before she called out, "So, my sister is planning to come tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I usually go to her place on Sundays for dinner, and I'd like to go again this weekend, but—"

"You can go ahead," he said quickly. "Don't let me stop you."

"No, actually, I thought you should come," she said. "I'm still not entirely sure what is going on … and your friend Hank did say you were on probation… and you should probably check with Anton as to what's been going on in town before you go to anything like a job interview…"

"If it's a family dinner, you should be with your family," Scott said. "I promise I'll still be here when you get back."

She let out a little hum as she worked but didn't say anything until she was sitting next to him. "I think you'd like them, and if you're going to stay, you should really start making friends in the community."

"If they're anything like you, I'm sure…" He paused and caught himself. "Well, anyway, you said Rachel has two little girls. I'm _sure_ Anton doesn't want me anywhere near them until things blow over and there isn't a mob calling for my head or something."

She pressed his glasses into his hands. "I'm sure they'd love you. Leslie Ann is still convinced every time there's a bad blizzard that Iceman is fighting someone close by ever since one of her preschool friends told her it was true."

"I'm not exactly Iceman," he pointed out.

She laughed lightly and shook her head. "No, but you have stories, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't tell stories on my friends," he said with a small smirk as he pulled on his glasses.

"Even to a four-year-old dying for snowman tales?" Annie asked with a playful little smile.

He couldn't help but laugh at her expression. "Alright, maybe."

* * *

As Annie had promised, Rachel arrived the next day looking a little wary, but the older woman relaxed significantly when Annie greeted her in the doorway with a huge hug as she launched into questions about how the girls were doing, how Anton was doing, and so on.

"How mad was the boss?" Annie asked, her eyes wide with honest concern as she led her sister, who Scott saw looked just like her, give or take a few inches in height, into the living room.

"Oh, mad," Rachel said with a wave and a laugh. "But he can't do a thing about it when the Avenger who came by took over the whole thing…" She paused and tipped her head to Scott. "You have good friends, Cyclops."

"Call me Scott," he said politely, extending his hand for her to shake. He let her decide to shake his hand, and he didn't miss the fact that she was looking him over carefully.

"I thought you were supposed to be dying," she said at last, the smallest of smiles tugging at her expression until it turned into a laugh when Annie smacked her sister in the shoulder.

"Really," Annie said in the same tone that she usually reserved for an 'honestly' Scott's way.

"Anton exaggerates," Rachel replied with a little laugh.

"Not really," Scott admitted, following the ladies' lead as they sat down and made themselves comfortable, though he was acutely aware of his presence and was sure to sit up straight and look as nonthreatening as possible. "Your sister has a lot to do with my recovery," he added with a smile Annie's way.

"And now _he's_ exaggerating," Annie said, rolling her eyes.

"No, really," Scott said, and he somehow couldn't help but smile when she started to push her hair back at the compliment.

Rachel looked between the two of them with her lips pressed together for a moment before she simply shook her head. "Well, while you're hogging the best cook in North America, the rest of us are suffering," she said at last as she wrapped an arm around her little sister in a side hug. "The girls were getting totally spoiled, and then — zip! No more Annie."

"I'll make banana bread for them," Annie promised, laughing.

"They'd appreciate a visit more," Rachel replied.

"Oh, I'm still coming tomorrow, don't worry," Annie said quickly.

"And are you bringing your new housemate?" Rachel asked. Scott wished that he knew her better so he could tell if she was serious or teasing; it was hard to tell, though the little shove Annie gave her big sister was a hint, sure.

"I told him he can come if he wants."

Rachel let out a little hum as she looked Scott's way, and he held up both hands quickly. "If you're uncomfortable, I can just stay here and read Hercules Poirot," he said, and he caught Annie's smirk at the fact that he had abandoned Sherlock for Agatha Christie.

Rachel watched him for a moment with her head tipped to the side. "I guess that's between you and Annie," she said at last.

"Oh, stop giving him the stink eye," Annie said, bumping her sister's shoulder with hers.

"I can't — it's my job," Rachel said, breaking into a huge grin as she bumped Annie's shoulder right back — and just like that, whatever pressure and tension had been in the room lifted. Before Scott even knew what had happened, Annie was already headed upstairs to get a few board games to play with her sister — and ten minutes later, Scott found himself in an intense game of Boggle with both sisters, three notebooks, and a bowl of popcorn.

He… wasn't entirely sure how that had happened. He just knew that Annie had sat down beside him and Rachel across from him and they had divvied out the pens and notebooks as if it had already been decided that he was going to be part of their impromptu game night.

And he was surprised at how intense the game was — it was clear that both of the women were good, scribbling frantically as soon as the timer started and calling each other out on misspellings, words that were not in the dictionary, that sort of thing. So while Scott had started out a little thrown off by the whole thing, he found himself quickly in the middle of it as well, his neat and precise handwriting getting worse as he tried to write faster to keep up with the two sisters.

With how much Annie loved reading, he shouldn't have been surprised that she loved word games — he could see other board games like Scattergories and Word on the Street that involved vocabulary and thinking on your feet — but Rachel was right there with her.

And they were competitive — even more so because they were so alike that they kept finding the same words, which meant that Scott had a slight edge as the two of them were so busy on the same lines of thought that he'd occasionally get in words they didn't think of, just by virtue of not sharing a Hale brain… until both of them were turning their competitive streak on him, little humphs and ha's whenever the lists were read.

Finally, after Scott had won three games in a row and was feeling pretty good about himself, Annie decided to switch games to Scattergories.

As Rachel watched her little sister get up to go get the new game, she let out a little laugh and leaned forward to whisper to Scott, "You're not very smart, are you?"

His head came up fast as he met her gaze. "What?"

But if he'd been expecting an explanation, what he got was a little light laugh that was a lot like Annie's, but not quite as musical, and a wave of Rachel's hand. "Nothing. You'll figure it out."

Scattergories ended up having similar results, even more so than with Boggle, since the whole idea was to think of words the other players wouldn't. And while the Hale sisters were both coming up with the same celebrity names, book names, and other such things — Scott had very different life experiences to draw from.

"Alright, that's it," Annie said at last when Scott had won another round. "We are playing something that's just… _pure luck_."

"You'd be winning if Rachel wasn't here," Scott pointed out diplomatically — after a slight pause when he saw Rachel giving him a look he didn't have context for. "You answered more than me; your answers are just overlapping."

Annie shot him a little glare over her shoulder before she shook her head and went back to the stack of games. When she came back with Yahtzee, she leveled her finger at the grin he was trying to hide. "Don't start," she warned, and he held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

The game after that clearly went much more to Annie's liking, especially because she got two Yahtzees, so that she was in a much better mood by the time Rachel told them both that it was time for her to go.

"It was nice to meet you," Rachel said with a smile Scott's way as she gathered up her purse. "You're not like the news says you are."

"Uh, thanks," Scott said, not sure what else to say to that reaction.

Rachel smirked at him and then made sure to wrap her little sister up in a _huge_ hug before she left.

Almost as soon as the door closed behind Rachel, though, Annie spun to face Scott, one accusatory finger leveled his way. "Alright, Mr. Summers. Rematch," she declared, and he couldn't help but laugh as he set up the Scattergories game again — and Annie ordered pizza.


	10. I Leave You Alone for Five Minutes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get a peek in on what Annie's been thinking.

 

* * *

Annie had been a little disappointed that Scott had decided not to come to the Sunday dinner with Anton and Rachel. She was getting used to having him around these past few days, though she could appreciate that he was trying to keep from getting in the way of her family.

He just didn't know yet that with the Hales, it had always been the case that 'the more the merrier' was the creed they lived by.

So it was a little strange driving home alone that night after spending the whole day playing with her nieces and chatting with Anton and Rachel. She'd brought home a stack of CDs she was borrowing from Rachel — a whole bunch of the songs that she was always humming so that Scott could hear the source material. And she had another one of Leslie Ann's coloring book pages for her collection. She kept all of Leslie Ann's creations in a drawer in the kitchen so she could be sure to hang the most recent ones on the fridge door so Leslie Ann could see how proud her aunt was.

Mary Beth had learned how to say 'please' and 'thank you,' and she'd been showing off her new skills through peals of laughter. So it was impossible for Annie to be in anything but a good mood as she drove home with her CDs and coloring book page and kisses from both of her favorite little girls - even if she was disappointed that Scott hadn't come. If nothing else, she thought he would have liked to hear that Anton was doing just fine at work, since the governor had been made aware of an Avenger in the city and the chief wasn't about to retaliate when they were under that kind of scrutiny.

She pulled into the garage and gathered up her things, though when she got inside, she was surprised to find that her little townhouse was simply… pristine.

She set down the CDs and coloring page and looked around the house, her head tipped to the side until she found Scott dead asleep on the couch with the blanket only halfway pulled up to waist level and one arm hanging over the side of the couch.

Everything else in the house was clean. The floors were swept, the counters wiped down… Annie even made her way upstairs to find that the half-built desk she had been working on before she got a call from Anton about Scott in the first place was now standing, with all her textbooks and school supplies organized and set on the desk.

She came back downstairs shaking her head. Scott was _supposed_ to be resting up, not cleaning her whole house! What had he been thinking?

She shook her head again, hardly believing the whole situation, though she couldn't stop smiling either. This was… unexpectedly sweet. She had to admit it.

Still in a haze of disbelief, she went through the house to lock up and turn off the lights, then paused when Scott moved slightly in his sleep. She wasn't sure if she'd woken him up, but for just a moment, when he still looked dead to the world, she had the oddest desire to brush his hair out of his face where it had fallen into the rim of his glasses while he was sleeping.

But she was glad she didn't when he stretched again. It was hard to tell if he was awake or asleep with the glasses covering his eyes, but it was clear she'd woken him up when he muttered out a tired 'hi.'

"Hi yourself," she said, smiling despite her best intentions as she sat down on the loveseat. "Did you sleep well?"

"I guess so," he said, though he sounded surprised at the fact that he had drifted off — or maybe at the fact that he'd slept through her arrival. "How long have you been home?"

"Not long," she said, smiling wider despite all her best attempts to play it cool and not make a complete idiot of herself in front of Scott. "Just long enough to see what all you've been up to while I was gone. Is this why you didn't want to come with me?"

He looked a little sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. "No, that's not it. I just thought you should have a nice time with your family without having to worry about taking care of me."

She shook her head at his response and gestured around the room at the pristine state of affairs. "Yes, because you're such an invalid."

He chuckled at that. "Well, Phoebe did say two weeks, and it's only been one," he pointed out. "And you were so set on holding me to that…"

"When you were _dying_ ," she said, shaking her head again. "Honestly."

For some reason, that got a grin out of him. "I wasn't dying."

"Looked like it to me."

"I think I'd have known if I was."

"You didn't even know where you were when you woke up here."

He tipped his head her way, the grin refusing to let up. "Fair point."

She let out a little noise of disbelief and threw one of the throw pillows at him. He caught it with one hand, grinning wider. "Well, whatever you were before, you're clearly not — dying or whatever — so… there," she said with a huff.

He chuckled as he started to sit up a little more, but she quickly held up both hands. "No, no, I woke you up. You just go back to sleep — I'm sure you're tired…"

"I wasn't trying to get out of going," he said, ignoring her and sitting up as he put the blanket neatly aside. "And it wasn't a … ploy to wait until you were gone." He rubbed his neck again. "I just wanted to help."

Annie let out all her breath at once as she had to bite back a laugh. Of course — hadn't he been saying that this whole time? "You really didn't have to go to all that trouble."

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to either," he said quietly.

"Well… of course I did," Annie said, pushing her hair back with both hands before she found herself utterly at a loss for words. And that was simply not something that she had any real experience with.

She wasn't sure she liked it — the silence.

She cleared her throat quickly. "Anyway, it would have been nice to have you along. We always , play games once the girls go to bed — you know, after we've done the requisite Chutes and Ladders with Leslie Ann — and it would be nice to have someone on my team to beat Rachel and Anton."

He paused for a long time. "Maybe next time," he said at last, and she was surprised by just how widely the grin spread over her face at his answer.

She shook her head at him and got to her feet. "Good," she said, smoothing out her jeans with both hands as she headed for the stars to get some rest herself. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, bit her bottom lip, and sighed before she rushed back over and very quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek. "And… thanks."

She was flushing a brilliant red, and he looked downright… lost. So, she swallowed hard and tried to pretend she hadn't just kissed the strange man who had been living in her house for a week as she headed upstairs.

She had a very hard time getting to sleep that night.

* * *

The next morning when Annie came downstairs, the coffee had already been started, as well as her sweet tea and toast, though she wasn't sure if she was grateful or not about the fact that Scott didn't bring up anything that was said or done the night before. In fact, if it hadn't been for the little wave he gave her, she would have wondered if he had even noticed she was there with how deeply involved he was in the laptop, his chin resting in the palm of one hand as he scrolled with the other on the keypad.

"Good morning," she said as she sat down with the tea and the toast, pleasantly surprised by how sweet the tea was.

"Morning," he said without looking up from what he was doing.

She frowned and tipped her head to the side. "How's the job search going?"

"About as well as I expect it to," he said, finally turning his attention from the laptop with a small sigh. "Sorry — I'll keep looking."

"What on earth are you apologizing for?"

He seemed surprised — either by the question or by her tone — and he paused over his answer. "You… if you were serious about letting me stay until I can get my feet under me…"

"It's really not an imposition. I _like_ having people over," she assured him quickly, already guessing where he was headed. She'd spent enough time with him to figure out that much, at least. She paused before she couldn't help but add, "It's better than being holed up here by myself."

She saw the corners of his mouth turn up. "Yeah, I don't think you spend much time alone here. But I could be wrong. I've only been here for a week."

"No, I don't," she admitted. "At least, Theresa calls often, and Rachel's family visits, but — oh, you know what I mean."

"Not really," he said, still with that same near-smirk as he turned back to the laptop.

She didn't realize how badly she was blushing until she had another sip of sweet tea and the glass fogged up the slightest bit. She shook her head to herself and set the glass back down, but then there was that maddening quiet again. "I didn't know Alaska boys could _make_ sweet tea," she said at last, for something to do.

"Hmm?" He looked up at her, distracted from whatever had his focus until then, and then he shrugged. "Oh, well — Rogue."

"What?"

"She was on my team—"

"I know, I watch the news. But what does that have to do with sweet tea?"

"Well, she was from Mississippi…"

"Ah." Annie held up a hand and almost laughed. "Say no more; I get it."

"And then there was Gambit," Scott said, starting to smile as he said it. "Who got _offended_ if you didn't sweeten your tea."

"Sounds like my kind of guy," she teased.

"That's all it takes? Sweet tea?" he asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Good taste," she corrected him, grinning wider when he shook his head at her response.

"If you say so," he said, turning back to what he was doing, and she shook her head right back at him before she returned to her own breakfast. She found herself scooting a little closer and a little closer, though, curious as to what he was up to, and he didn't make a move to move away, either, apparently perfectly fine with her peering over his shoulder.

She frowned. "You don't _have_ to stay here," she said as she noticed that all of the jobs he was looking at were in Anchorage.

"I know." He paused and turned her way. "Would you rather I didn't?"

"No," she said quickly.

"Alright then," he said as if that settled matters and went right back to what he was doing.

"It's just…" She took in her breath and held it. "I don't want you to think you _have_ to, just because I asked you to — if you can't find anything you like…"

"No, no," he said. "It makes sense." He gestured to the notebook full of crossed-out options. "Right now, there's not really a team I can join, and even if I did…" He let out a sigh. "I think it might be better if I laid low for a while, so nobody else gets accused of being a terrorist with me, or gets thrown into my fights."

She frowned at that and watched him. He _seemed_ like he meant it, but he didn't really… there was something about the set of his shoulders, she guessed. He was hard to read, but something was off, anyway.

"Well, Anton's still a cop even after all the crap he's been through," she said suddenly.

He looked up in surprise. "What?"

She frowned, trying to find the right words to express the sentiment. "I just meant… you shouldn't let other people stop you from doing something you love."

Scott was quiet for a lot time, which Annie knew by this point meant that he was thinking over his answer carefully. Finally, he seemed to let out all the breath in his lungs at once as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know," he said quietly. "The only thing I've ever done is try to keep my team and, well, everyone else _safe_. Maybe the best way to do that right now is not to be around."

She frowned. "And that's why you're looking for jobs at a bagel factory."

"Well, that and the fact that it's what's available," Scott said with the slightest of smirks.

She shook her head at him and pursed her lips. "That's not a very good reason."

"Maybe not," he admitted. "But hey, I can always find something else if the bagels don't work out, right?" he asked, the smirk widening as it was clear he was doing his utmost to stop her frown.

"Honestly." She shook her head at him. "Find something you _like_ , Scott."

"I'll start with something to help pay my rent," he countered.

She threw her hands in the air to illustrate how done she was with the conversation, and she only got more annoyed when she thought she heard him laugh the slightest bit. She took her glass of sweet tea and clutched it to her chest. "I'm taking my tea," she said haughtily.

"Okay."

"And you can't have any."

He laughed. "Okay."

She sniffed and turned her back to him, taking her toast and tea to the living room as she searched through her favorite movies and shows for something to watch while she ate. By the time she'd finally settled on _NCIS_ , she'd already finished her breakfast, but she made herself comfortable all the same, stealing back the blanket that no longer smelled like flour but like Phoebe's burn ointment.

She wrinkled her nose. She should really run that through the wash. Even if it did smell weirdly nice.

She wrapped herself up in the blanket and the smell and was perfectly content right where she was, thank you very much, when Scott sat down on the couch nearby. He still had the notebook in his hand and seemed to be going over a few things, but when she shot him a questioning look, he just smiled her way and tipped his head toward the television.

"I didn't think you were the procedural type," he said.

"You have seen my rows and rows of mystery novels, haven't you?" she pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's not quite the same. These are less…" He paused. "It's more about the drama than the mystery."

"Sometimes," she conceded. "But allow a girl a guilty pleasure or two, would you?"

"It wasn't a criticism," he promised, both hands held up with the pen held between his fingers on his right hand. "I just thought it was interesting, that's all."

"You were expecting, what, more _Andy Griffith_?"

"A little bit, yes."

She broke into a smile as she leaned forward. "Actually, I had the biggest crush on one of the guys in _M*A*S*H*_ when I was growing up."

"Really?" He leaned forward with a smile to match hers. "Which one?"

"Hunnicut, of course," she said, waving her hand.

The smiled widened. "Most people say Hawkeye."

She made a little noise in the back of her throat. "All flash. No substance."

He laughed at loud at that. "Alright then."

She grinned over at him as she readjusted the blanket around her shoulders. It was the middle of summer, but she liked the sensation of being wrapped up, and besides, she had the fan on. And she was still grinning right up through getting up and dropping down to sit next to him, pressing the remote into his hands. " _You_ pick something," she instructed him.

He stared at the remote for a moment before something like a smirk crossed over his expression all at once, and he didn't say one word to her until he'd pulled up his selection — Season 5 of _M*A*S*H._

She turned to face him with a look that was nearly exasperated. "What?"

"I thought we'd start in the season where it gets good," he said with a completely neutral expression.

Annie wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or smother him — but one of those options was safer than the other, so she threw a throw pillow at him until he laughed and then sniffed out an "honestly" until he stopped laughing and leaned back against the couch. Neither of them talked about how at some point in her pillow pummeling, she'd wound up sitting close enough to him that his arms draped over the back of the couch could have draped over her shoulders. Though he decidedly didn't do that, and she wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not.


	11. Don't Mess This Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which The Thing finally happens. Yes, really.

 

* * *

It had been a few days now, and despite appearances, Scott didn't feel like he knew what he was doing in the slightest.

He'd meant what he'd told Annie, that he thought lying low would help his teammates. He really did think that the team would benefit from not having to deal with his baggage, from being able to work out their problems without the world screaming at them for being led by an international terrorist like him.

But more than that, the longer he stayed there in Anchorage, the more he wanted to _stay._ Staying with Annie had been the first real chance he'd had in what felt like years — what _had to be_ years — to stop and get his breath and his bearings and not worry for just a few minutes about what was going on in the world at large.

He was sure it wouldn't last, though, and of course, he couldn't just stay holed up in her townhouse hiding from everything out there. Eventually, there had to be some forward motion. And it was starting to get to the point where he _knew_ he needed to move on or move forward — one of the two.

Still, he was surprised at how hard it was to think about leaving that haven. He hadn't done this since … well, no. He hadn't really had days strung together like this with nothing to worry about but the fact that nine foremen had said they didn't hire mutants and especially not X-Men. He didn't think he'd ever spent a day just… not _doing_ anything.

It had been since Jean, he thought — he'd had a few movie nights with her. A few hidden away vacations where they both tried to pretend they weren't X-Men and never could make themselves believe it.

After Jean, it had just been crisis after crisis after crisis. It had been that way _with_ Jean, too, but at least then…

He ran his hand through his hair. He didn't know why he was thinking of Jean now, in the middle of Anchorage, especially when it had been long enough that he really should have gotten used to the idea that she was gone. He didn't think he ever would, but he _should have._

He just didn't know why he was thinking of Jean when she wasn't _like_ Annie. Jean liked musicals, and she liked movies that Bobby suggested just to make fun of them. Jean threw popcorn at him when he figured out the ending of the movie before the reveal and laid out across the whole couch so that the only way he could share it with her was either to get tangled up with her or to move her.

Annie liked old movies and shows with such _genuine_ enthusiasm that he'd caught her humming the background music to _The Court Jester,_ and she laughed before the jokes even arrived because she'd seen the movies often enough to know it was coming — which ruined it for Scott, but he didn't exactly mind. Annie curled up in her favorite blanket with a bowl of popcorn and graciously shared her food only by letting him sit close enough to reach over and grab some for himself. Annie took up as little space as possible and leaned back on his shoulders when she was tired without thinking about it.

...He needed to get out of the house.

So it was lucky that the library had been the place, out of everything in town, to actually call him back about a job shelving books. Annie had offered to drive him, but it was only a little while down the road from where they lived — where _Annie_ lived — so he told her he'd walk.

Annie had a perfect life. It wasn't that he was playing it up or even that he was jealous — she just did. A family that loved her enough to move across the country to be there for her. A job that she loved. Good friends, a good home, parents and siblings that called…

He was _not_ going to mess that up for her.

… So why was he sticking around? Why was he trying to find a job — a normal, everyday, blue-collar job?

What was his problem? Did he really think he could just flip a switch and stop being Cyclops and _just_ be Scott Summers? Hank might have kept him out of jail, but that didn't mean everything else — everyone that had every reason to hate him — couldn't come crashing down on him any minute.

He slowed down when he got to the library and passed both hands through his hair again.

The whole reason he was even here was that he'd left. Left _all of it_ , for the first time in his life. Just… turned his back. Not a 'break.' A clean split. And God help him, it was so nice.

Annie's world didn't have monsters or telepaths, heroes or villains. It didn't have world-ending consequences. There was no time travel, nothing but one day after another.

He wasn't saying it was perfect. He'd listened to her talk about Anton's problems at work, or the fact that she came down with a cold and the flu every time it went through the school even when she got a flu shot. He'd met the guys at the bar who liked to catcall her and harass other people in the community. And he was sure there were other less-than-perfect aspects of her perfect life.

But her world didn't _have_ to have Cyclops.

He'd never even considered that. Not really, not fully. He had talked about it, even _tried_ with Jean to just… be Scott. But he hadn't ever thought it would work, not long-term. There was too much pulling him back.

He shook his head and pushed his thoughts back to the present as he made his way into the library. An older woman, whose hair was so white-gray that it was nearly blue, met him there, and they talked for nearly half an hour, though none of it had anything to do with shelving books.

She wanted to know about his family (none, at least not that he kept in touch with). She wanted to know how he liked the area (just fine, thanks). She wanted to know how long he thought he'd be working there if she hired him (as long as you'll let me). She wanted to know how he knew Annie-

"She called you, didn't she?" Scott asked, shaking his head.

"You really think Anton Wright can arrest Cyclops and the whole city doesn't know about it?" the woman asked, one thin eyebrow arched.

He rubbed his neck, sure that this was the beginning of the downhill slope for his interview with a mention like that. "Right."

"I called her to ask her why you were arrested," the woman explained. "That's not exactly a shining character reference, you know."

"Yeah," he said, feeling his shoulders slump before he forcibly straightened them.

"She explained the whole thing to me," the woman went on. "You know, I knew those boys when they were barely out of their cribs, and they have been trouble since the start…"

Scott stared at her as the woman continued on her way, rambling about the state that the city had fallen into that ruffians like Laurens and his friends were hardly getting so much as a slap on the wrist when there were actual, law-abiding citizens having to deal with them….

She went on for long enough that Scott finally felt he had to cut in. "Well, thank you for your time," he said.

The woman smiled at him, wide and missing a few teeth. "Oh, it was my pleasure," she said with such a genuinely warm tone that it had Scott off his guard again. "So you'll be in first thing on Monday, yes?"

He very nearly did a double-take. "I… what?"

"One hour before we open the doors — or do you need more time than that to learn the basic systems?"

"I…" He stared at her. "Right. Yes, I can do that," he finally managed, completely taken aback by this strange woman. _There must be something in the water here._

"Good. Then I expect you there on time. I despise tardiness."

"I'll be there," he promised, finally getting his feet back underneath him and even smiling despite himself.

"Off you go, then!" she said, shooing him with both hands and that same craggly smile, and Scott got to his feet in almost a daze.

That… was certainly not how he'd expected that to go.

He made his way out of the library with his hands in his pockets, still in a state of disbelief, still trying to wrap his head around how that had happened. There had to be some kind of trick, right? There was no way that someone in a normal town, a normal library, had just hired him for a boring, _normal_ job.

He couldn't believe how excited he was.

He was so caught up in the thought of it, in the idea of trying out being nothing more than Scott Summers, that he very nearly missed the warning signs — and it was only the fact that he'd been an X-Man for so long that told him there was trouble a second before one of the men in the pickup truck that slowed down to drive beside him chucked a bottle at his head.

Scott ducked on instinct and spun to face them, not surprised in the least to see that he recognized a few of the faces from the bar fight that had landed him in Annie's lap in the first place.

"Come back for more, didja?" one of the men jeered, and Scott felt his jaw clench but tried his best to keep right on walking. He didn't want any trouble, not after everything that Annie had done to help him get settled — or start to get settled, anyway. The last thing he needed was to get involved with these guys and risk that.

But when Scott didn't acknowledge them, he was surprised — or, more appropriately, disappointed but not surprised — when the pickup truck pulled onto the sidewalk, and the men jumped out of it: three of them this time. With a sigh, Scott stopped, glared, and settled into a ready stance. Three half-drunken guys, he could take easily.

One of them lashed out with a punch that he led with so obviously that Scott hardly had to put any effort into avoiding it. He ducked and pushed the man's arm back, throwing him entirely off balance so that he drunkenly staggered in the wrong direction while his two buddies rushed Scott.

He sidestepped another wide swing, though the third guy was either good at fighting or more sober than the other two — it was a tossup — and was a lot more deliberate about the hard right hook that Scott just barely deflected. When the third man tried to follow it up with a left jab to Scott's stomach, he moved entirely on instinct, grabbing the man's hand with his own and twisting his arm behind him.

He wasn't going to use his optic blasts if he could help it, but he wasn't going to just let them hit him either.

He'd just wrenched the man's arm back when he heard the blare of a police siren, and he gritted his teeth, biting back the curses he was ready to let fly at the sound of it. Of course. Couldn't go anywhere without bringing down trouble —what had he been _thinking_?

The police car pulled to a stop beside the truck, which was halfway in the road and halfway on the curb, and Scott was completely ready to hear the usual rundown of just exactly how wrong he was — until the door opened and a recognizable, tall officer got out.

"What, have you got a sign over your head?" Anton Wright asked, shaking his head in disbelief as the three drunken men seemed to realize their mistake all at once.

"Apparently," Scott said with a smirk he just couldn't hide, not when the _one_ police officer in the area that would give him a fair shake was standing right there. "You haven't been following me, have you?"

"That would be a total waste of my time and department resources, considering you spend all your time with Annie anyway," Anton said easily, and Scott smirked, before Anton turned to the three men and read them the riot act — publicly intoxicated, drunk driving, and anything else he could think of to yell at them for.

"You've been out on bail all of what, a couple days? Come _on_ ," Anton said to one man in particular, and Scott tried his best not to look like he was enjoying the show too much. It was kind of nice to be on the other side of this sort of thing. Anton reamed out the guys for a while longer before he finally turned to Scott. "Need a lift?"

"No, thanks," he said, shaking his head.

Anton just shrugged. "If you say so," he said. "But hey, next time — give me a call. Annie's got my number, and ain't every cop that's gonna drive by and help, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Anton shook his head to himself before they parted ways, and Scott couldn't help but count his lucky stars all the way back to Annie's townhouse. He wasn't entirely sure that he believed Anton's claims that he wasn't following Scott, if he was being honest, but even if he was… Scott didn't exactly fault the guy. After all, they hadn't had the best of introductions, and Scott _was_ staying with his sister-in-law. Alone.

He put his hands in his pockets as he walked back to Annie's townhouse, all the nerves from earlier coming back to hit him in a rush. What was he doing there, anyway? Who was he kidding with this play-acting at being normal?

Couldn't even walk down the street without finding trouble.

He laughed and shook his head to himself, not because of the situation or anything else but because, for some reason, he could just hear Annie telling him he was being defeatist. He'd _tried_ to explain to her that he was just being _realistic_ , but she wouldn't hear it.

Arguing with Annie was like nothing he'd ever done before, because she didn't back down from him in the least. Even if he could talk up every logical point, even if he could argue articulately and well, she would just stare at him for a moment, roll her eyes, and say, "But that's just _stupid_. It _shouldn't_ be right."

Which was not an argument at all.

He was caught up in thinking about the way Annie would draw herself up, her hair thrown over her shoulders and her chin thrust out like she was angling for a fight, whenever he said something that she considered to be _so very wrong_ — the kind of thing that deserved an 'honestly' or a 'Mr. Summers' — that he hardly noticed the time pass at all as he headed back to the townhouse and found himself on the front steps.

He was surprised at the familiarity of it when he let himself in with the key Annie had given him — in case she didn't hear him knock while she was listening to her music as she started laying out her lesson plans and paperwork for the school year — which started up in about a month. He was surprised by how easy it was to walk into the entryway and set the key on the kitchen counter and head upstairs to the office, where he knew Annie would be working.

She was meticulous about her organization, and that alone had him grinning as he saw the differently-colored folders and tabs and pens that she was using to mark everything up. There were lists to be sent out — school supplies that her kids would need. Supplies that she knew she would have to get herself.

He looked over her shoulder, honestly impressed, though he must have been too quiet about it, because she startled and spun in her chair to face him, smacking her hand against his chest.

"Don't _do_ that!"

He held up both hands quickly, but not fast enough to avoid the hit or to stop the grin, not that he was trying too hard to hide it. "Sorry."

She sniffed but didn't press him on it, shaking her head at him as he saw now that she had one of her headphones in her ear. She definitely hadn't heard him come in, then.

 _Oops_.

"Do you always start working on your semesters this far ahead?" he asked.

She waved her hand. "I just like to go over everything and make sure I don't want to change anything. You know how it is. Sometimes the school administration decides to change things up…"

Scott smirked to himself. "Well, I _was_ the school administration for a while…"

"Oh, I knew there was something horrible about you from the moment I met you," she said in a huff, and he couldn't help but grin at her. "What's got you in such a good mood, anyway?" she asked.

He almost told her that it was the fact that he'd gotten that job down in the library, though as soon as he opened his mouth to do that, he realized he would have been lying to her. That job… sure, he was excited about it, but he was still more shocked than anything else that the old woman who ran the place had taken the chance on him.

He almost told her that it was the fact that he'd gotten to watch her brother-in-law chew on three drunks for a good ten minutes, every second of which they'd deserved, but while that had been a little bit of fun, that wasn't it either.

But he _absolutely_ wasn't going to tell her that coming back to the townhouse felt like coming home when it hadn't been nearly long enough for him to have any right for it to feel that way.

"It's just been an interesting day," he said at last when she held his gaze and made it clear that she was waiting for an answer — she wasn't going to just give up if he met her with silence on a question. That much he'd learned _fast_ since he'd started to stay with her.

"How did things go at the library?"

"Surprisingly well," he admitted, leaning against the wall for a moment with a slowly growing grin. "Are you sure you didn't call ahead and tell her to offer me the job?"

Annie laughed. "She called and asked about you, and I told her that you had been nothing but polite since the moment I met you." She paused and spun in her desk chair to face him better with a spark of laughter in her gaze. "I left out the part where you are impossible to get a straight answer out of and where you seem to have an insane desire to run yourself into the ground."

"I'm pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate you lying to her like that," Scott pointed out, and Annie let out a little disbelieving laugh.

"Are you calling me a liar, Mr. Summers?" she demanded, putting one finger in the center of his chest.

"In this case?" he countered with one eyebrow raised and a smile he just couldn't stop.

She let out a laugh that seemed to escape her in a bubble all at once. "Wait a minute, wait a minute," she said, setting aside her headphones so she could stand up and face him better. "Is that a sense of _humor_ , Mr. Summers?"

He held up one hand. "There's no need to sound so surprised."

She laughed and took a step closer to him so she could put her index finger back in the center of his chest. "We need to figure out what happened to put you in such a good mood," she said.

Scott laughed, but he couldn't help but be aware of just how closely Annie had stepped in to make her point, and all of a sudden, the grin he'd been wearing was harder to maintain, and he let it drop as his mouth dried out.

 _Get out,_ he told himself, even though he wasn't moving. _Get out now before you find a way to ruin her life. Before trouble finds you again._

Annie had fallen strangely silent, watching him for just a moment with her teeth on her bottom lip. He didn't know what she was thinking. _This was so much easier when I just… knew what she wanted_.

He didn't know how long he stood there like that, trying to tell himself to get out, wondering what she was doing standing there staring up at him, but enough time had passed that Annie let out a little sigh and slumped her shoulders, turning back to her chair—

Scott reached out to her and snagged her arm.

 _Get. Out,_ he told himself, repeatedly, as Annie turned back his way with the biggest grin he'd ever seen her wear.

 _Get out_ , he told himself as split second before she stepped even closer this time, all the way up on her toes. She still wasn't tall enough, so she was pulling on the back of his neck to get him to bend down.

 _You're going to screw this up,_ he told himself as he obliged and bent down to meet her and gently pressed his lips to Annie's.


	12. Kiss the Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which SCOTT AND ANNIE ARE KISSING NOW. IT IS A THING.

 

* * *

Kissing Annie was like nothing Scott had ever experienced.

There was no accompanying rush of psychic connection urging him on, proving to him that he was on the right track. There was no warm fire or even rush of cool water like with Jean or Emma. No connection so he could feel her thrill in his own veins.

He was, simply, kissing her.

In one sense, he missed the assurance of that connection, that steady presence. It was so much easier to know that he hadn't made a huge mistake and assumed way too much when he could _feel_ the response.

But in another, there was something pure about this kind of kiss. There wasn't anything but her mouth on his, her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. Nothing but the warmth of her cheek under his hand as he cupped her face, nothing but the taste of the gloss she was wearing on her lips.

There wasn't any presence in his mind whispering to him what he was supposed to do next, what she _wanted_ him to do. There was just the way she pulled him until he practically fell into the chair she had just been occupying so that he was at a height she could reach him in her bare feet.

She wasn't hungry about it, like Emma had been. There was no tug on his bottom lip with her teeth, no hands on his wrist pulling him into position.

She wasn't frenetic, like it had always been with Jean, a tangle of minds and passions all at the same time.

Annie was gentle. The only pulling she did was so that she could reach him, and once he was at a height she could manage, it was like moving in slow motion, her lips pressed into his. He could get lost in one single breath with her mouth against his, and she wasn't in any hurry to move on to the next breath, either, each movement slow as she curled the fingers of one hand into the fabric of his shirt around his neck to hold on.

And then the doorbell rang, and she pulled back, surprise and pleasure written all over her expression as he simply stared at her.

He didn't know why he'd done that — but he definitely wanted to do it again.

The doorbell rang again, and Annie seemed to let out all her breath as she primly rearranged her expression and her hair, laughter just behind her gaze the whole time. "I should go see who it is," she told him, and he grinned up at her crookedly for a moment before she headed downstairs and he was left staring after her for a long moment.

There was a big part of him that knew this was a mistake, getting involved like this.

But his ears were still buzzing with the kiss that she'd given him, and his heart was hammering in his chest loud enough to drown out any thoughts like that. He wanted more than anything else to go and get her and bring her back and kiss her all over again — whoever was at the door could wait; he didn't care about them.

He had never done this before. Kissing, yes, sure, he'd done that, but this — this thing where he was totally lost with nothing but her hands in his shirt to prompt him forward? That was new. He was out of his depth in a way that he hadn't been since Jean — and he was trying hard not to grin too widely at the newness, the excitement of it all.

He broke out of his thoughts when he heard Anton's deep voice downstairs and decided to head down himself — since, after all, Anton had only just gotten him out of a jam with the local idiots, and Scott wouldn't be surprised at all if he was checking in.

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Anton saying, "Yeah, you'd think they'd learn at this point, but some people just weren't born with the sense God gave the rest of us."

"Why can't people just leave him _alone_?" Annie asked in a frustrated tone as Scott poked his head into the living room from the stairs, and she gestured his way. "He's not hurtin' anyone!"

Scott held up both hands as Anton looked his way. "It's fine, Annie," he said, surprised to see her this worked up. "I'm used to it."

"Which is exactly why it ain't fine," Anton said with a single raised eyebrow Scott's way as he looked between the two of them. He sat down at one of the bar stools at Annie's kitchen counter, past the living room, and Annie had already put a glass of sweet tea in front of him. "Thanks, Annie."

"No problem," she assured him with a bright smile before she waved Scott over to join them.

"You don't have to come and check up on me," Scott told Anton, admittedly a little self-consciously, as he sat down. "Those guys never had a chance — didn't get a shot in."

"Yeah, I know, I saw," Anton agreed, taking a long sip of the sweet tea. "Nah, I just figured I'd come and check on Annie — see how she's handling her houseguest," he said with a significant glance Annie's way.

Annie rolled her eyes. "Rachel sent you, didn't she?"

"You know how she gets when you don't call her up, Annie," Anton teased lightly. "She thinks it's the end of the world."

"It is _not_ , and she needs to mind her own business," Annie said with a distinctly pink tinge to her cheeks that had Anton raising both eyebrow high and glancing between Annie and Scott.

"There somethin' I should know about?"

Scott opened his mouth to say something, but when Annie burst out with a completely scandalized, "no," he shut it again.

"Right," Anton said in a tone that clearly conveyed how much he didn't believe Annie as he turned to look Scott over a little more closely. "Heard you got a job in town," he said in a decidedly more inquisitory tone than the one he had been using earlier.

"This morning," Scott said with a nod.

"Then you're stickin' around," Anton surmised.

"That's the plan so far," Scott agreed. He met Anton's gaze easily, not nearly as flustered as Annie was as something inside him fought back against the idea that he had anything to be ashamed of. He'd been telling himself that he was trouble since the start, but someone _else_ looking at him like that — he wasn't going to take that lying down any more than he was going to let those men in the pickup truck take out their drunken anger on him.

"Pretty close to this place," Anton observed in a tone that wasn't even close to qualifying as casual.

"I'll walk," Scott said. "Good for the recovery."

"So you're stayin' _here_ then."

"Anton," Annie broke in, her tone sharp. "I invited him to stay for as long as he needs, and you're the one who brought him here. _Honestly_."

"Wasn't plannin' on it bein' a permanent arrangement,' Anton said without looking away from Scott.

"Me neither," Scott replied easily. He shook his head as he could already see what Anton was thinking. "I'll pay my way, do my share, don't worry."

Anton still had his eyes narrowed before, suddenly, Annie reached over to hit him in the arm. "Are you gonna play interrogation with him all afternoon?"

"Maybe."

She let out a breath of annoyance and rolled her eyes. "And you're very big and impressive and all that," she said. "We're all very scared. Now please, stop being ridiculous and drink your sweet tea." She didn't raise her voice and had no powers to speak of, but the way she said it was just as much of a command as Scott had ever heard, and he couldn't help smirking to himself when he watched Anton do just that.

Annie had a way about her of getting exactly what she wanted. Scott was sure that was half the draw, if he was being honest with himself.

There was a long beat of silence after Anton looked between the two of them before, finally, he addressed Scott again. "You'll be comin' on Sunday, right?"

He had been distracted watching Annie, so it took him a moment to process the fact that Anton had addressed him, and he turned Anton's way a bit too late. "What?"

"Sunday nights, we have Annie over," Anton said, a distinct sort of frown tugging at his mouth as he looked between Scott and Annie again. "If you're gonna be stayin' with her, least you can do is make an effort to be part of things."

Scott almost laughed. It was a transparent attempt to get to know him better — he wondered if Anton suspected what had been going on upstairs just a few minutes ago — but he wasn't going to fight it, either. After all, all Anton knew about him was that the press was calling him a dangerous terrorist and that he'd very nearly been dead on his feet when he showed up in their lives. If it had been him dealing with this strange person moving in with his sister-in-law, yeah, he would have had more than a few questions.

And seeing as Scott definitely wanted to keep kissing Annie, despite everything he knew telling him that was a bad idea and reminding him that every woman he got close to ended up in the kind of trouble that a Kindergarten teacher wasn't equipped to handle…

Well, he could deal with a little interrogation compared to all that.

"Sure," he said with a shrug over the top of his coffee. "I can come to that."

Anton watched him for a moment with narrowed eyes before he nodded once and then turned Annie's way, his expression much warmer for her than it had been for Scott. "You gettin' set up for school?"

"Of course," she said with a bright smile. "I'll start sending supply lists out to parents by the end of the month."

"Sounds about right," Anton laughed. "Leslie Ann's been talking about how excited she is for school nonstop since you mentioned it last time you came."

"She's too smart for her own good," Annie laughed.

"Gets it from her mother," Anton chuckled before he stood up, pushing the glass of sweet tea, with just a bit of tea down at the bottom, toward his sister-in-law. "Anyway," he said. "Just thought I should check in, seein' as I pulled your new friend outta trouble again and I didn't want it to follow him here."

"That's not going to happen," Scott promised. And it wasn't — he would make sure of that. He wasn't going to let what he was and who he was intrude on the paradise that Annie had built for herself in this little townhome, with her Kindergarten classes and her supply lists and everything else. He'd put a stop to it before he let her get hurt like that.

Anton raised an eyebrow his way again before he shook his head, let out a laugh, and clapped Scott on the shoulder. "Right," he said. "Just checkin' in. Probably gonna do that more often, seein' as you're sticking around."

"Call ahead next time," Annie told him, only some of her good-humored tone in her voice when she said it. "And bring Rachel, would you? I'll put something on and we can make a real get-together out of it."

"Sure thing, Annie," Anton said, laughing lightly before he wrapped her up in a hug and then shot a significant sort of glance over her shoulder at Scott before he headed out again.

As soon as the door closed behind Anton, Annie let out a sigh that was half-annoyed and half-affectionate. "Don't let him bother you," she said, her hands on her hips as she shook her head at the closed door. "He's a good man, but he is just…"

"Protective," Scott supplied for her, watching her with a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He had been thinking about how badly he wanted to kiss her again, but he was still trying to figure out if that was a good idea when she was like this — all frustrated and flustered.

The problem was that he wanted to kiss her _more_ when she looked like that, apparently.

She finally turned toward him, her hands still on her hips, and caught the little smile he was giving her. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head lightly as he didn't tell her that he was just thinking about how she looked better with her shoulders drawn back and her chin out.

She seemed to realize just what he was thinking, though, and a pleased blush rose up on her cheeks before she let out a scoff. "You are _trouble_ , Mr. Summers," she accused him. "You're just going to prove him right about thinking he should've stayed."

Scott shrugged lightly. "I'm not scared of Anton," he teased.

"No, I'm sure he doesn't hold any water to the kind of trouble _you're_ used to."

"Not even a little bit," he agreed. She still had her hands on her hips, and he was still trying to figure out if a flustered Annie was alright to kiss, but he definitely wanted to, so he took a step into her to see what she would do.

She didn't even hesitate to match him, stepping right into him to slide her arms around his waist, standing on her toes, though she still wasn't tall enough without him ducking his head the slightest bit. She must have wanted to kiss him again just as badly as he'd wanted to kiss her again, because this time, she was a little more forceful about it, her hands moving from around him to practically hanging onto him by the shoulders so she could pull herself up taller.

He was grinning into the kiss as he walked her backwards until they hit the couch, and she pulled him with her, kissing him a little harder now that they were seated and at something much closer to the same height.

The little reminders in the back of his mind that things had never gone well for him, that this was just going to put her in harm's way were still there, but they weren't nearly as loud as the steady thrum of his heartbeat and the rush of blood in his ears as she took her time tracing the collar of his shirt with her fingers and he found her hair with his.


	13. Meet the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, well, as you can imagine, Scott meets Annie's family. Even though he's already met them... it's a different set of circumstances now that they're kissing, okay?

 

* * *

When Sunday arrived, Scott found that he was strangely nervous as he ducked into Annie's car and she drove the few miles between her house and Anton's. He'd already met Anton and played Boggle with Rachel, but this was different. He doubted either Rachel or Anton was blind enough to think that he and Annie hadn't grown as close as they had, so the dynamic had changed.

He thought he was ready for that. He'd done it before, a little, with Jean.

But he was completely caught off guard when, instead of being greeted by Anton's nearly accusatory glare when they arrived, Rachel was the one to greet them, with an adorable baby girl, a little over a year old, on her hip.

"'Bout time y'all got here," Rachel said with a wide and teasing grin as Annie rushed to hug her big sister, and a little girl of about five or six peered out from around Rachel's legs, shyly hiding but still apparently determined to be part of the greeting party.

"Leslie Ann, this is Scott," Annie told the little girl, who studied Scott from around her mother's knees with a look that clearly said she didn't know what to make of him.

He crouched down to her level and waved, and she waved shyly back at him, though it was clear she wasn't coming out from behind Rachel anytime soon. "Nice to meet you."

She giggled and hid behind Rachel again, and her mother let out an exasperated sigh. "She's usually not very shy," she said.

"It's fine," he promised as he straightened up and followed Annie through the door into Rachel and Anton's home. He was, after all, more or less used to that. He wasn't sure if it was being an X-Man or if it was the glasses, but — yeah, he was used to it.

For her part, Annie swept in like she owned the place, heading right to the kitchen with her sister as, in the space of just a few moments, she had little baby Mary Beth on her hip and was already helping to get everything set out to make dinner. It was obvious that she had done this a thousand times, coming in and making herself at home, and Scott couldn't help but smile watching the two sisters chat back and forth as they passed each other seasonings, pans, and took turns holding Mary Beth.

"Nothin' can stop the Hale sisters when they get together," Anton said as he stepped out of the living room and tipped his head at Scott to indicate that he should follow him. "If you stick around long enough to see all three of 'em in one place…" He shook his head and let the smirk speak for the rest of the sentence.

Scott couldn't help but laugh as he looked over his shoulder to where Annie and Rachel were both already falling into deeper accents, seeming to feed off of each other. But it was clear that they loved every second around each other, and it was impossible _not_ to smile watching them both. "I think it's great," he said.

Anton didn't say anything except to raise an eyebrow at Scott before he gestured for Scott to join him and offered him a beer. "You got any family?" Anton asked as he leaned back on the couch.

"Not like this," Scott said. He knew that Anton was fishing for information and didn't exactly mind — Jean's family had been the same way, though it had been easier then… Jean could tell them so much more so much faster than Annie could. And it wasn't like Annie knew much in the first place; she pointedly _didn't_ ask about anything related to the X-Men — well, usually.

"Not close?" Anton asked.

Scott almost smirked. "Not really," he said. He cracked open the beer Anton had given him. "And you?"

"Dad was in the Army," Anton said. He tipped his head toward the door to the kitchen. "That's how I met Rachel. Pair of Army brats."

"Yeah, I get that," Scott said with a little nod.

"Yeah, no offense, but X-Men don't count as military," Anton said before he took a long drink.

Scott smirked. "No. But my dad was a pilot."

"No kidding?" Anton asked, starting to grin.

Scott shrugged easily. "Got me started on everything I know about planes."

"Didn't know that," Anton said.

"It's not like they publish the life stories of the X-Men in the paper," Scott said, still with a light smirk.

"Nah, might humanize you," Anton agreed with a slight bitterness to his tone.

Scott leaned forward with a small frown. "You don't have to keep looking out for me," he said.

Anton looked surprised for a moment before he let out a little laugh. "No," he said, holding up one hand. "I'm not — listen, you're more'n welcome to call if you get in trouble, but I'm not babysittin' an X-Man."

Scott almost pointed out that Anton's appearances lately had been almost too convenient, but he was derailed when a three-foot interloper poked her curly-haired head into the room, her big, brown eyes as wide as she could get them as she looked between the two men in the room before deciding it was safe enough to go to her dad, climbing up into his lap with a satisfied smile.

Now situated, the little girl unrolled her clenched fingers to reveal that she had stolen a quick-rise cookie from the kitchen. "Don't tell Mom or you'll spoil your dinner," she told Anton with all the sternness she could muster as Anton broke into a huge grin and bit off half the cookie out of her hand.

Anton was still grinning around the bite of cookie as he said in a voice that sounded like his mouth was far fuller than it actually was, "Cookie? What cookie?"

The little girl — Leslie Ann — broke into giggles and then shoved the rest of the cookie into her mouth as well, grinning at her dad. "What cookie?" she repeated, getting a bark of a laugh from her dad.

Scott leaned back and watched the interaction, and he couldn't help but smile at the two of them. The affection was obvious to see as Anton ruffled her hair, and Scott had to laugh out loud when Leslie Ann turned to him with a perfectly stern expression. "No telling, mister," she said, one hand on her hip and one index finger pointed at him in warning.

Scott was still grinning as he held up both hands. "I won't tell," he promised.

Leslie Ann seemed to size him up for a good, long moment, trying to decide if he was trustworthy, before she nodded once and wiped the crumbs off of her hands by clapping them together a few times before she rearranged herself in her father's lap to face Scott better. "My Aunt Annie likes you," she said with all the bluntness of an almost-six-year-old.

Scott wasn't sure what was better — the matter-of-fact tone Leslie Ann was taking or the surprised look on Anton's face that clearly said he hadn't put her up to that. He smiled at the little girl and nodded. "I think your aunt is pretty great too," he told her. "She's letting me stay with her; did she tell you that?"

"That's not what _my mom_ calls it," Leslie Ann said, at which point Anton very _loudly_ cleared his throat and set Leslie Ann on the floor.

"Why don't you get your coloring book?" Anton asked, scooting Leslie Ann along a little more with the back of his hand as she grinned up at him. "You can show Aunt Annie what you've been working on."

Leslie Ann grinned even wider as she bounced on her toes. "But it's not _done_ ," she said.

"Then you can finish it so you can give her another drawing for your fridge," Anton told her.

Leslie Ann put both hands on her hips, sizing the two men up, before she let out a dramatic sigh and flounced off to go do just that, leaving Anton shaking his head. "Kids, right?" he chuckled.

Scott smirked. "We had a few that young at the institute. Kids that came in with physical mutations."

"Trouble," Anton said, leaning back.

"Usually," Scott said, shrugging slightly and knowing what the next question was—

"Got any of your own?"

 _There it is._ He leaned forward and nodded. "Two." It was the simplest explanation to give since, well, trying to go into exactly _how_ Rachel and Nate had come into his life was… complicated.

"How old?" Anton asked, both eyebrows raised.

 _Well, that's a whole other story._ "They're both adults now," Scott said, which just had Anton's eyebrows raised further. "Time travel," he said almost automatically, for some reason feeling like he shouldn't be charged for the extra years.

But that didn't seem to do much for Anton's expression as it turned into more of a frown. "What the heck's _that_ supposed to mean?"

 _See, this is why we don't have our life stories out there,_ Scott thought dryly. "It's a long story," he said, trying to play it off, but Anton wasn't having it.

"Try me."

Scott crossed his arms, and Anton did the same. _You did know you were walking into exactly this,_ he told himself at last as he shook his head. "Like I said — time travel. It's a problem the X-Men have come across often enough," he said. "Sometimes we'll come across our own futures — or alternate versions." He could see Anton's eyebrows reaching his hairline. "I told you. It's a long story."

"So…" Anton shook his head. "Not yours?"

"That's not what I said," Scott said, thinking of Nate in particular. _It's just that I haven't exactly sent any kids to Kindergarten or taught them to read,_ he thought but didn't say out loud.

Anton finished off his beer and set it down on the side table. Finally, he cracked a smile. "'S fine," he said. "Annie's sister's adopting, my parents fostered — been there."

"That's not—"

"Yeah, but every family's got something," Anton said with a shrug.

Scott almost smiled at Anton's easy tone in the face of something that he knew personally was _not_ an easy subject, but he couldn't think of any response — not when Anton seemed to be taking the whole thing so completely in stride. Scott was sure there would have been more … pressure, somehow.

Thankfully, Leslie Ann had returned by then, a wide grin on her face as she carried in her Disney princess coloring book and plopped herself down right in the middle of the floor with a little baggie full of crayons.

Anton glanced to Scott before he turned his attention to his little girl, crouching down beside her. "Who are you coloring this time, baby?" he asked.

"Princess Jasmine," Leslie Ann said matter-of-factly. "Duh," she added, gesturing at the page she was working on, and Scott had to smirk.

"You're right; I should have recognized her," Anton said, smiling as he sat down next to her, and Leslie Ann laid out on her stomach, coloring away with her feet kicked up behind her.

Leslie Ann colored happily for a little while, telling her dad all about Princess Jasmine and how _Aladdin_ was her favorite movie, before she glanced up at Scott and cocked her head to the side. "Do you like princesses?" she asked.

Scott smiled quietly at the little girl. "I don't really know a lot of them," he admitted.

But that just seemed to spur her on as she waved him over to join her and Anton on the floor, and as soon as he sat down, cross-legged, on the other side of her, she started to flip through her coloring book, showing him each of the characters and explaining who they were and what they did and which ones were her favorites.

He nodded along to everything, sure to act impressed whenever she would point out a page that she was particular proud of having colored or whenever she would point out the mazes and other games within the coloring book that she had already completed. She was so sincere about explaining everything that there was no way he could do anything but give her his full attention — and that was how Annie and Rachel found the three of them when they came in to say that dinner was ready.

Scott didn't exactly have a reference for the look that Annie was wearing when she walked into the room, but he heard himself clear his throat as he got to his feet and realized he was self-conscious as he did so.

Leslie Ann, all of five years old, had none of that trepidation, though, and just skipped right over to her mother to report on how "sad" it was that Scott didn't know about any of the princesses as Rachel made appropriate "oh" noises at the little girl.

"I'm glad to see she's warming up to you," Annie said with a warm smile. She squeezed Scott's hand as they made their way down the hall, and Scott wondered briefly just when, exactly, he'd gotten himself into this situation where a five-year-old was a crucial piece of pursuing the incredible woman beside him.

"She's a sweet kid," Scott said, a bit lamely. He didn't exactly know what to say in this situation and felt distinctly out of place as he watched Rachel getting her baby girl tucked away in a high chair and helping Leslie Ann sit at the table with the rest of them.

Annie squeezed his hand again before they took their seats, and Anton said grace before they dug in.

* * *

Annie could tell that Scott was uncomfortable, but she could also tell that he was only that way when he thought too much about that fact that he was _with her family._

He wasn't uncomfortable, for example, playing Connect Four with Leslie Ann when she insisted that he had to take a turn after Anton. He wasn't uncomfortable helping with clearing the table. He wasn't uncomfortable holding Annie's hand in plain view of Rachel.

He _was_ uncomfortable when anyone tried to draw him into conversation, or asked him about himself. Annie had noticed that — he wasn't exactly a stellar conversationalist. It wasn't that he was secretive. He was just… bad at it.

It was honestly endearing.

She said goodbye to her sister and her family — kisses and hugs all around — and didn't miss the fact that Scott's shoulders had relaxed as soon as they got into the car and pulled out of the driveway, even though he was a bit too tall for her small car.

"You don't do this much, do you?" she asked him, the tiniest smile tugging at her mouth until it turned into a fully-fledged grin.

He turned her way and gave her a self-conscious smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not… exactly… close to anyone in my family."

"Culture shock?" she teased.

He had to laugh at that and nodded. "A little bit."

"Well, I appreciated you coming all the same," she said, reaching over to rest one hand on his knee and give him a little squeeze.

There was silence in the car for a while before Scott cleared his throat. "They're amazing, you know — your family."

She raised an eyebrow his way, turned to show her surprise as much as she could while she was driving. "Well, they're certainly not X-Men," she teased.

"That's what makes them perfect," Scott said with a little smirk.

Annie couldn't help but smile wider at that as Scott fell silent again, though it was not the same uncomfortable silence as before. She didn't exactly mind. She'd spent enough time _living_ with the man to know that she could let him go for hours without a word spoken between them, though she was used to a little more back and forth with her own family.

Not that she minded. It was just different.

When they got back to her townhouse, she hung Leslie Ann's most recent coloring page on her fridge, as always, before she tossed her keys in the little wicker basket on the counter and headed upstairs. Scott was already up there — Annie had given him the entire guest bedroom closet — and on a whim, she peeked open the door to that room.

He had just pulled off his shirt — or was in the process, anyway — though it still hadn't entirely come over his arms when he paused on hearing the door creak slightly, and Annie flushed brilliantly — and then even brighter when he started to grin her way.

But there was also a part of Annie that really, really wasn't sorry for intruding.

Sure, she had seen more of Scott than was polite from practically the beginning, but it was one thing to wrap bandages and another thing entirely to _look_ , for no other reason than to look. The scars that had been so bright when Annie met Scott had faded by then, and now, they were indistinguishable from the rest — and there were, she saw, several thin, white scars, marks of his time as an X-Man.

She didn't push him — she was an Army brat, and she knew better than to push someone who didn't want to talk about scars. She'd seen people come home with scars that couldn't be seen. But that didn't mean she wasn't curious all the same.

"You can come in," Scott said with a little smile, shaking his head as he tossed the shirt into the laundry basket in the closet.

Annie couldn't help but let out a light laugh at that as she stepped in, chewing on her bottom lip as she looked between the closet, Scott, and the futon he'd been sleeping on since he moved off the couch.

And as it turned out, she found that she was just as bad with words as he was — or maybe he had just distracted her. "Sorry. I was just..." She pulled her hair behind her ears and smoothed it down.

His smile tugged harder at the corner of his mouth, and in two long strides, he'd closed the distance to kiss her.

She always had to stand on her toes to reach him, but she loved doing it. She was already sliding her hands up to his shoulders so that she could hang on, pulling to get closer to him while they were still standing until she felt him pick her up so she didn't have to stretch quite so much.

Before he could set her back down again, though, she tucked her ankles around him, and she had to laugh at the surprised little pause before he simply shifted the way he was holding her, pulling her higher and tighter and grinning the whole way.

She liked that he did that — that he couldn't hide the grin when he was kissing her. He didn't smile _nearly_ often enough, but she liked that he forgot to hide it as she traced her fingers into his hair.

They were getting truly involved before she remembered what she had meant to say in the first place, and the little laugh it got out of him when she finally whispered that he should forget the futon — well. It just had her grinning too.


	14. Gone Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Annie talks Scott into a relaxing weekend getaway, and it's good for both of them to get out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in getting new chapters up. I promise I have a really good reason, and it's that I was publishing my own book in real life (It's called "Rebel Rendezvous" and it's amazing :D) and got so caught up in all the last-minute editing and stuff like that… So really, anything that wasn't already written (like the 714 main universe and the Avenger Games story) sort of fell by the wayside while I was working on that….
> 
> Told you it's a really good reason.
> 
> Anyway, we're back now with a chapter of solid FLUFF. Because everyone needs fluff. Annie's school year is approaching soon, but I wanted them to have some time together on their own first… So… This happened ;)

 

* * *

The thing that surprised Scott most of all was how quickly he had fallen into a  _normal_ routine with Annie. He woke up before she did, kissed her forehead, headed off to the library, spent the day shelving books, and came home to find Annie trying out some new recipe, humming old country songs.

If someone had told him that he would be doing  _this_  with his life, he would have laughed them off. But here he was, working a day shift, learning how to make sweet tea  _exactly_ the way Annie liked it, losing horribly in Yahtzee every time he played Annie and accusing her of somehow rigging the game — though of course, that just wasn't possible from  _her._

But today was a Saturday, and that meant he was sleeping in — the library opened early, after all, and with a weekly schedule, his weekends wouldn't require a pre-dawn wakeup call. He had always been a morning person, but he and Annie had been up late the night before, out to a late-night movie before they came back home — and they'd been up later than that afterward.

He still woke up before Annie did, though since he didn't have anywhere to be, he didn't move except to pull the covers up a little more around both him and Annie.

She always slept on the very edge of the bed, curled up practically in the corner, even though she had an entire queen to herself before he showed up. So when he'd started to share a bed with her, that cocooning behavior meant that he often didn't have any blankets halfway through the night.

It didn't bother him, especially not when it was still the end of the summer, but Annie was embarrassed enough by it that there was a blanket folded at the end of the bed in case he got cold — and he knew he would once the winter really got rolling.

He still couldn't believe he was thinking ahead to staying that long. Or that he  _wanted_ to.

The blanket was still folded at the end of the bed, but Annie hadn't stolen  _all_ of the blankets that night — it was probably too warm. Whatever the case, he was able to pull the covers over his shoulders and settle in behind her. She was still sound asleep, her mouth partly open and her hair absolutely everywhere, her knees curled up almost to her chest as always.

Annie was a morning person, too — so it wasn't long before she started to stir awake, though she was also not in any mood to move anywhere as she leaned back into Scott. And now that he knew she was awake, he shifted so that his arm was draped over her and pulled her just a little bit closer.

She turned so that she was facing him instead of facing the very, very edge of the bed and rested her forehead against his bare chest, smiling as she wrapped her arms around him.

"G'morning," she mumbled tiredly.

He grinned. "Morning."

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

"It's Saturday."

"Right."

He couldn't help smiling at her. Even though she liked being up in the morning so that she could get things done, that didn't mean she was necessarily as fast to wake up as he was. Once he was awake, he was  _awake_. Annie… took her time.

But she was that way about just about everything.

He still couldn't believe how easy this was. The routine. The normalcy of it all. He couldn't believe that he had a job that he could just… be  _done_ with when he came home. There were no emergency calls, no late nights…

He missed it, obviously. He missed the challenge of a good problem to solve. He missed feeling like he was part of something … well. Bigger than a local library. He missed the  _purpose._

But he didn't miss it at the same time. He didn't miss losing friends. He didn't miss the nights staying up desperately working against the clock — and sometimes still losing friends or innocents  _anyway_. He didn't miss being shot at, being hated, being hunted down.

But it really wasn't about the library job anyway. It was about the steadiness, the normalcy, the routine that meant he got to come home every single day to Annie. It meant she knew when he'd be home, so they could plan things like a night out at the movies without some supervillain bursting into the middle of all of it.

Annie loved old movies, and there was a theater just a five-minute drive from the townhouse that played old movies every Friday night. It wasn't overly popular — there was a Saturday matinee that drew most of the audience for the oldest stuff — but that just meant they had the theater to themselves.

Scott preferred it that way, not just because it was more fun to sit in a mostly-empty theater and watch Annie's openly gleeful expressions at every part of the movies she'd seen a hundred times over, but because the area where they lived was still a small enough town that people knew who he was — and still hadn't forgiven him for being who he was and for staying in town.

Actually, it was the first time he'd heard Annie swear when someone at the theater had tried to say something to her about it — warn her off. And Scott hadn't even said a word, just let her say her piece and then leave in a huff, while he just shook his head at her, doing a horrible job of ignoring how much he wanted to kiss her when she got so defensive.

Now, curled up with Annie, he kissed the nape of her neck and grinned at her. "Any plans for this weekend?"

"Actually," she said, and he only grinned wider, since that was Annie — always looking for something new to do, to read, to bake, to experience. "I was thinking we'd do something  _you_ chose this time."

Scott raised an eyebrow and let out a breath as he thought it over. "What about that bookstore—"

"The one that I like?" Annie said. "No, we need to find something for you." She sat up a little, and he sat up with her, slightly, up on one elbow as he watched her with his brow wrinkled. "I grew up on bases. I can play any sport… sort of… we can go to a baseball field or toss a football around or…"

Scott laughed. "Really, I'd love to go to the drive-in or—"

"—or if you like boating,we can rent something for a weekend," Annie continued, undeterred. "Come on, Scott. You have to give me something here!"

"I'm not a big fan of the water," Scott said with a smirk, thinking of Alex. "I mean, I'll go fishing, but—"

"Then let's go fishing," Annie said. "Let's do something different."

"Are you sure?" he asked, not sure where this was coming from. They had been exploring parks, different restaurants, had even been down to the beach, after all. "We could go for a drive or a hike if you don't like fishing."

"If I decide I don't like fishing, I will bring a book," Annie replied, tossing the covers aside.

He shook his head at her as he watched her pull some clothes out of the closet. "What's the occasion?"

"What?"

"I mean, why the change? I'm fine with hiking or going to the beach-"

Annie waved her hand at him. "No reason. I just thought — I mean — it's not fair to  _only_ do things that I like to do. And besides, Mr. Summers, you can only coast on tall, dark, and mysterious for so long before I want to get to  _know_ you."

He watched her with a totally bemused expression as she pulled the shirt over her head. "Alright," he said at last as he got out from under the covers, still shaking his head at her. "Have you ever fished before?"

"Not really, no," she admitted as she grabbed a brush to run it through her wild bedhead.

"Do you want to learn?"

"I'll try anything once," she said with a confident little grin and one hand on her hip as she pointed the hairbrush at him. "Didn't you say you were a teacher? Come on, then. It should be a simple thing to teach a teacher, right?"

He smirked. "I don't know; it might be like doctors being the worst patients…"

"Oh, honestly."

He smirked more widely at her reaction. "Well, it might."

* * *

They ended up spending the whole weekend out fishing — simply enjoying each other's company and the quiet stillness of the water around them.

It had been a long time since Scott had gone fishing — a long time since he'd done anything that could be considered a "hobby" for him — but he got right back into it easily enough. It wasn't hard to do. Annie, on the other hand, had tried, but it simply wasn't her cup of tea, she told him. That didn't mean she wanted to leave or go home, of course — she was curled up with a good book and a pair of sunglasses on the shore.

By the time Sunday evening rolled around and the sky started to get dark, Scott was surprised by how, well,  _surprised_  he was to see the sky darkening. He clearly hadn't kept very good track of time — he had been enjoying himself far too much. And that in itself… it just didn't happen often. At all.

He packed up his gear and the fish he'd caught — he would grill them up for Annie when they got home — before he felt Annie wrapping her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek into the spot between his shoulders with a contented sigh.

"We should do this more often," she decided.

"Go fishing?" He raised both eyebrows. "But you didn't like it."

She swatted him playfully and laughed into the back of his shirt. "I didn't like  _fishing_. I liked being with you when you're so … relaxed. And I finished my book, so it was fun for me too, I promise."

He smirked and turned around so that he could see her better and pull her chin up to steal a kiss. "Trust me, Annie. I just enjoy being around you. That's all this is."

"Oh, sure," she teased, though she returned the favor and stole a kiss right back. "We still should take weekends like this more often. You and me… away from everything else."

"Us against the world?" he said, matching her smile with one that had a lot more of a teasing overtone to it.

"Us against nature and a snapping fishing rod," she said, matching his tone with a smile as she draped her arms around his middle and tried (and failed) to look properly sheepish over her inability to fish without breaking the equipment on the first day.

"I didn't know you could swear like that," he teased, smiling as he remembered her frustrated look, before he leaned down to kiss her again and she laughed into the kiss.

"You remember that I was an Army brat?" she pointed out.

"I might have heard you mention it once or twice," he said, though he wasn't quite as focused on the conversation as he could have been, instead starting to kiss her neck. None of this was new, after all, and he was in a great mood after their weekend out.

She rolled her eyes at him but didn't make a move to stop him, either, sliding her hands around his waist as he worked his way very slowly and gently up to her jaw. When he finally got around to kissing her mouth, she had her hands knotted in his shirt too.

"What time do we have to check out of the cabin?" she murmured softly as he picked her up to carry her — so he could reach her better to keep up with the kisses.

"We've got an hour."

She smiled at that and reached up to run her fingers through his hair. "A whole hour," she said with a little smile that had him grinning wider as he carried her — forgetting about the truck all packed up and ready to go with their equipment in the truck bed when he had a gorgeous woman in his arms.


	15. Uncle Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Annie's parents come to visit, and Scott ends up in the middle of a big ol' family reunion... which is really not something he's used to.

 

* * *

Summer had gone by in a breeze of days spent in this "normal" routine. Scott went to work, he came home to Annie, and they would watch old movies, go on walks, or simply stay inside and curl up together.

The only notable thing to happen since Scott got the job was the graffiti on the side of the library, but that hadn't lasted. A fine beam later, and the graffiti was scraped off the surface, and no one was any wiser, so he hadn't told Annie about it.

But with the end of the summer came school, which brought with it a change in the routine as Annie prepared for a new class of Kindergarteners. She was always bubbly and warm, but to see her ahead of a new school year was something else entirely, like watching her come alive for the first time all summer.

Scott had just stepped in through the front door when Annie rushed over to greet him, jumping up to kiss him past the height difference with her arms around his shoulders and neck as he caught her around the waist and never let her feet touch the ground, pulling her in that much tighter and smiling into the kiss when she didn't seem like she was about to let up in the least.

When she finally broke to get a breath, he was still smiling. "You sure know how to say hello, Annie," he couldn't help teasing her.

She grinned up at him and swatted his arm playfully. "I'm just excited, that's all."

Scott paused as he tried to think of what might be different about that day than any other Wednesday, but aside from school starting on Monday, he simply couldn't think of anything. "Alright," he said, shaking his head to himself as he left his shoes by the front door and then scooped Annie up around the waist to repeat the performance, pulling her up to kiss him.

For a long while, they got lost in each other, her hands in his hair and his around her hips until he set her down on the counter so he could trace the curve of her jaw and get his hands tangled in her hair.

He was fairly concentrated on what he was doing, so when she took a breath, he thought it was just to  _breathe_  until she tapped him on the shoulder. "Aren't you going to ask me what for?"

He shook his head at her and kept tracing her jaw, undeterred and enjoying himself. "Alright, Annie. What's got you so excited?"

"Mom and Dad are coming up this weekend."

Scott stopped what he was doing, the revelation enough to totally derail his earlier track, though he still brushed back Annie's hair as he asked, simply, "When did this happen?"

"Oh, they usually come up every year before school starts, but they weren't sure if they were going to be able to make it this year. Mom's sister had a bad fall, and they wanted to be with her just in case," Annie explained in a rush of breath, obviously picking up on the fact that he was far less excited by the prospect than she was — though it didn't take a telepath to catch that, honestly, considering he had completely been derailed.

"That's…."

Annie watched his face carefully and reached up to cup her hand against his cheek, brushing her thumb against his cheekbone. "Oh come on, Mr. Summers. Are you telling me the big bad X-Man is afraid of meeting  _my_ parents?"

Scott let out a scoffing noise. "No."

"Good." She leaned forward on the counter and with one hand snagged him around the back of the neck so she could pull him into a kiss that was a lot more like the more involved one that he'd been trying for earlier.

* * *

Saturday morning came far too early — where did the week go? — and with it also came an earlier wake-up call than usual so that Annie could pick up her parents from the airport once they arrived in Anchorage.

When the alarm went off, Annie let out a noise that clearly said she hadn't gotten enough sleep as she reached over to turn it over and then turned to face Scott, who was already well awake. He'd just woken up a few minutes before the alarm went off, like his body knew exactly when he had to be ready — even if he didn't think he was ready in the least.

He hadn't felt this nervous since he met Jean's parents, though it was different this time, somehow. Jean's parents had known who he was. Annie's … Scott didn't know what they would think.

"Are you sure you want me to come with you?" he asked Annie even as he pressed a kiss to her temple to 'help' her wake up.

"Of course," she murmured, sleep still heavily weighing down her voice as she pressed a kiss to his cheek and then a much longer one to his mouth, wrapping herself partway around him for a moment before she finally let out a long sigh and forced herself to get out of bed. She stretched and yawned, then turned his way with a little smile. "Come on, Scott. They'll love you."

He shook his head, smirking at her the slightest bit. "I'm sure they'd rather spend time with their little girl all to themselves," he pointed out.

She just laughed and rushed to the bed to grab both of his hands to try and pull him out of the covers herself, laughing more when he finally relented and let her pull him free of the blankets. When she finally had him at least sitting up and smiling at her, she surprised him by tackling him backwards and kissing him passionately — much more involved than he'd expect from the usually slow-to-wake woman.

When she finally let him up, he had completely forgotten about anything except for Annie, and he could tell by the twinkle in her eye as she smiled at him that she knew it, too. He couldn't help but chuckle at her antics as he pushed himself back up on his elbow to watch her get dressed.

"Alright, Mr. Summers, you're getting up out of that bed, and you're coming with me to pick up my parents," she said when he hadn't moved from just smiling her way.

He had to smirk her way and shake his head before the smirk stretched into a smile and a dry, "Yes, ma'am," that got him a pillow in the face.

But as it turned out, he was ready to go long before Annie was — though the ten minutes she spent trying to find her misplaced keys probably had something to do with that — and they were even a little bit early to the airport to pick up her parents.

It was easy to recognize Douglas and Evelyn Hale before they even waved at Annie's car and headed toward the two of them with their suitcases behind them. They had the same bright smiles, and Evelyn had the same slightly curled hair, though it was streaked with gray now.

Scott tried to stay out of the way of the three-way,  _huge_ hug that followed once Annie all but tumbled out of the car and rushed over to wrap up both of her parents. Instead, he popped the trunk so he could load up the suitcases, but he didn't get to pick up either of them before Evelyn had stopped him, stepping in front of him with exactly Annie's warm and friendly smile and a kind, "You must be Scott."

He smiled lightly, the same kind of smile he had used for reporters — it was more of a reflex than anything else — and nodded. "That's me."

"Well, it's wonderful to meet you in person. We've already heard so much about you."

Scott managed to shoot Annie a look with his head tipped slightly, and Annie just laughed at him and waved her hand. "Only good things," she promised him, though there was an obvious spark of trouble in both her voice and her gaze.

"Right," he said, unable to stop the smirk her way as he shook his head lightly and turned back to Evelyn. "Annie talks about you both all the time."

"Only good things?" Evelyn said with the same sort of troublemaking spark that Annie usually had.

 _So that's where it comes from._ Scott couldn't help but smile a bit wider at Evelyn as he gestured to her suitcase and she stepped back to let him help her load up in the back of the car.

Once they had the suitcases loaded and both Evelyn and Douglas were situated in the back of the car, they headed back to Annie's house. And for the most part, Annie's parents seemed content to simply catch up with Annie, asking her about the upcoming school year, chatting with her about when she was going to move back down South — which had Annie laughing. It was exactly the kind of easy conversation Scott had come to expect from the Hale family — full of genuine laughter and care.

That is, until Douglas turned his attention Scott's way. "So, left the X-Men, have you?"

" _Dad_ ," Annie said sharply before Scott could even properly react to the question, but Douglas simply held her gaze, making it obvious to Annie that he felt he had every right to question Scott — and considering the situation, Scott wasn't really surprised about it, either.

"I got a right to know the state of affairs for the man datin' my baby girl," he said in a no-nonsense tone before he looked Scott's way. "Well?"

But Scott had  _known_ this would happen — and this was a question he'd already thought through his answer. "Shortly before I met Annie, yes," he said. He was sure to keep his chin level and turn toward Douglas, showing with his body language that he was meeting the man's gaze, since he couldn't show it behind the glasses.

"Why?" Douglas didn't betray any emotion one way or the other about it, though Evelyn was shaking her head Scott's way almost in an apology.

Scott took a moment to consider his answer before he settled on one that he thought Douglas would be able to understand. "Because they needed someone else to head up the team, and the way things were, I wasn't the right person for the job."

"So you left because you lost the top spot," Douglas said, his tone still even.

But Scott was already shaking his head. "I left to give someone else a chance," he said. He gestured to himself with one hand. "The world has already decided how they feel about me. That shouldn't reflect on my team."

An almost approving sort of smile tugged on Douglas' expression for a moment before Annie came to a red light and reached over to rest her hand on Scott's knee and gave him an encouraging squeeze.

"And you work at the library now," Douglas said in that same even tone.

"Dad, this ain't an interrogation," Annie said in a tone that belonged to someone much younger than she was.

Scott returned the gesture with a hand on her knee and smiled lightly her way before he turned back to Douglas. "There aren't many job openings for a former X-Man, but yes, that's what I found."

"And when you get tired of shelvin' books?"

Scott shook his head. "I'm not planning on going anywhere, Mr. Hale."

Douglas held Scott's gaze as best he could with the ruby quartz between them before he nodded once, sharply, and fell back into a silence that was quickly filled by Annie and her mother talking together about how Theresa, Annie's other sister, was doing with little Amon, the son she had adopted from Ethiopia.

Apparently, Theresa and her husband were looking at doing another adoption, which all three of the Hales seemed thrilled about.

"They're still comin' out for Christmas, right?" Annie asked with a warm smile. "I miss that little boy."

"Of course," Evelyn said, her smile wide as she leaned forward into the space between the driver's and passenger's seat, and Scott wondered if he shouldn't have let Evelyn sit in front with her daughter. "He's speakin' in full sentences now, you know. He's still shy, but if you can get him to open up — and if you listen to him whisperin' — you'll catch it. Asked about you yesterday."

Annie put a hand over her heart. "Oh. And I missed it."

"We tried to get him to say hello to you on video, but he insisted on talkin' 'bout his toy train instead," Douglas chuckled, a deep, rich sound that seemed to come from the pit of his stomach.

"Of course he did," Annie said, leaning back and shaking her head to show just how disappointed she was that her nephew was more interested in trains than her. Scott couldn't help but smirk at the display, falling into a bit more ease as they headed toward Rachel and Anton's place.

Once they arrived, of course, there was once more the flurry of warm hugs and reunions as Rachel wrapped herself into her parents' embrace — and Anton shared a quiet smirk with Scott as the two of them headed up to the Wright's guest room with the suitcases Evelyn and Douglas had brought with them.

"How'd it go?" Anton said with a smirk as they dropped the suitcases in the room.

Scott shook his head lightly. "Annie's thrilled."

"Not what I asked."

Scott let out a breath of a laugh as he turned toward Anton. "Where's this coming from?"

Anton held out both hands with his palms upturned. "Hey, I remember how it was when I got inducted into the Hale clan. Even for an Army brat and a cop, it was overwhelming," he said with a teasing sort of smile.

But Scott was already shaking his head. "No," he said before he'd even thought about it. "She  _loves_ them. It's obvious to see. There's nothing overwhelming about that." He didn't add that it was really  _something else_ to see Annie in her element like that — or that her entire expression lit up like Christmas around her parents. She had been getting more excited all summer as school approached — but this was a whole new level, one that Scott was honestly enjoying, at least from this side of it.

Anton raised an eyebrow Scott's way and then let out a little chuckle, shook his head, and clapped a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Sure thing, Scott," he said in a tone that clearly told Scott he was missing something as they headed back down the hallway—

—only to get immediately attacked by a short little girl with her hair in little pigtails.

"Hi, Scott!" Leslie Ann said, beaming up at him and bouncing slightly on her toes.

"Hey, Leslie Ann," he said with a small smirk as he crouched down to her level. "What are you up to?"

"I'm gonna show my mammaw and pappaw the picture I drew for them!" she reported, still bouncing happily.

His smirk stretched into a smile, and he nodded. "Well, I won't get in your way."

"You gotta see it too!" Leslie Ann said, her eyes wide as she leveled a finger at him. "Don't move, mister."

Scott laughed and held up both of his hands. "I won't," he promised.

She eyed him up and down carefully, like she was trying to decide if he was going to keep his promise, before she nodded and skipped off down the hall, and Anton started to laugh.

"Fast learner," he said Scott's way.

"I know who runs the show," Scott said with a smirk as they waited for Leslie Ann to get back with her drawing.

The little girl was humming as she skipped all the way down the hall to where Anton and Scott were waiting, and she held up her stick figure drawing for both of them to crouch down and appreciate.

"See?" she said brightly, beaming at them. "There's Mammaw and Pappaw, and Mom and Dad," she said as she went down the line of stick figures, which had the corresponding hair color and were all wearing their favorite colors for their shirts. "And there's me and Mary Beth and Aunt Annie and Uncle Scott and Aunt Theresa and Uncle Craig and Amon…"

Scott froze.

Anton was appropriately oohing and awwing over the picture, and Scott was sure to break out of his stupor to tell her that he liked the glasses she had drawn on his stick figure self, but when she skipped off to go show her grandparents, Scott turned Anton's way.

Anton was already holding up both hands and laughing. "Don't look at me. She did that one all on her own."

Scott just had to shake his head as they headed back to the living room. He knew Leslie Ann didn't mean anything by it — she was  _five_  — but it had only been, what, three months?

Though to a five-year-old, three months was an eternity.

But when they got down to the living room, he didn't have to dwell on it too long, as Rachel immediately put him and Anton to work, handing them frozen burgers and directions to "get to it" as the Hale sisters gushed with their parents over the pictures they had brought of their only grandson. It was obvious both Rachel and Annie were simply in love with little Amon, from the half-cooing noises coming from the living room.

When the time came for dinner, though, for some reason, Leslie Ann had decided that she just  _had_ to sit beside Scott and Annie, with her grandparents on the other side of her, and since she was clearly the one running the show, there was no way they were going to sit anywhere but there.

"Are you excited about school, Leslie Ann?" Evelyn asked warmly, and the little girl just nodded happily, sitting on her knees with her feet tucked under her so that she could be 'taller.'

"Uh-huh. Aunt Annie already helped me pick out all the things I need, like a backpack and stuff," she said.

"It's a Princess Jasmine backpack," Rachel added, which just got a delighted laugh out of Evelyn and an 'of course it is' from Douglas.

"Aunt Annie doesn't have a backpack, though," Leslie Ann reported seriously, nodding to herself at her wisdom as she added, "Because she's the teacher."

"Maybe if I did, I would get a Princess Jasmine one too," Annie teased.

"No," Leslie Ann said, shaking her head. "No, you gotta get a 'Venger backpack."

Annie looked surprised at that. "Why?"

"Cuz that's what Uncle Scott is," she said in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone.

For the first time that afternoon, Scott was glad for the glasses hiding his expression, though he was unmistakably redder as he steadfastly tried not to react to …. Any of that. All of it.

Annie laughed and shook her head. "No, baby, he was an X-Man."

"Uh-huh, that's what I said," Leslie Ann said, nodding along.

Annie let out a little laugh and shook her head, clearly following Leslie Ann's logic as she kissed the top of the little girl's head. "That's right, sweetie. He's a superhero."

Scott swallowed and put a hand on Annie's arm. "Annie."

"Oh, please," she said, rolling her eyes. "Like I'm going to try to explain to a Kindergartener the different between all the little clubs y'all have."

That was clearly  _not_  what Scott was thinking about, though he didn't quite know where to start. He tried to say something a few times before he gave up and shook his head, focusing instead on the food in front of him.

* * *

Annie's parents stayed the weekend, completely spoiling their granddaughters and spending as much time as possible with Annie and Rachel. It was a short visit, but it was obvious to Scott that the Hales knew how to make the most out of even a couple days together, and Scott spent almost the entire two days in the Wright household surrounded by a group of people who seemed to be steadily getting deeper accents the more time they spent around each other.

At some point on Sunday night, a little while before they would have to leave to take Annie's parents back to dinner, Scott found himself talked into coloring with Leslie Ann again while the Hale sisters were giving Douglas and Evelyn plenty of farewell hugs and kisses.

Of course, Leslie Ann was running the show even when it came to coloring. She would hand Scott a crayon and let him know what color went where, "because you just see red, and you gotta do it  _right_."

He had thought about explaining that he was more than capable of reading the labels on the crayons, but she was so determined to help that he decided to let it go.

She was sure to assign him to color all of the princes in the princess coloring book, and she did the princesses, so they were part of the way through working on a picture of Eric and Ariel together, with Leslie Ann halfway tucked under his arm as they laid out on the floor so that she could reach the picture at the same time as Scott — when Annie came back in to let Scott know that it was time to head out.

When she saw the two of them halfway curled up, though, she stopped in the doorway with one hand over her mouth to keep from smiling  _too_ broadly.

"Oh, Leslie Ann," she called out as Evelyn and Douglas waited in the hallway and shared little smirks themselves. "Do you think I could borrow Scott so we can take your mammaw and pappaw home?"

Leslie Ann glanced up at Annie and then over at Scott before she let out the most put-upon sigh Scott had ever heard. "I  _guess_."

Annie laughed as Scott got to his feet, and she made sure to pull Leslie Ann into a hug and kiss her cheek. "We'll come back on Sunday, and you can finish your picture then, okay?"

"Okay," she said grumpily before she pointed Scott's way. "You better not miss dinner!"

Scott smirked and held up one hand. "I swear, I won't."

"Good." Leslie Ann nodded once, sharply, before she rushed over to give hugs to her grandparents as well.

Annie just laughed as she threaded her arm through Scott's on the way out the door. "You're so good with her," she said with a warm smile.

"She just wanted to color," Scott said, shrugging lightly.

She laughed and shook her head. "She loves you, Scott," she said, then stood on her toes to kiss him. "And you know something, Mr. Summers — so do I."


	16. Cyclops Comes Out to Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Annie starts teaching her Kindergarten class, and everything seems to be going well for our lovebirds... until it very suddenly isn't anymore.

 

* * *

Annie was all warmth and energy ever since her parents had come to visit, and that seemed to carry over and even get stronger once the school year started.

She was absolutely thrilled with her new class, especially because Leslie Ann was at her school, and the little girl was always drawing pictures to give to her every day. The drawer beside the fridge was filling up more and more — until at one point, Annie asked Scott to pull down the attic ladder and help her get to a box in which she was keeping all of Leslie Ann's creations.

It was amazing to watch her work, really. She knew the names of her entire class from day one and made it a point to learn their favorite colors as well. She knew the little things, too — for example, that little Andrew wanted to be a cat when he grew up and that Helen was scared of spiders, but not daddy long-legs, or "father spiders," as Helen called them.

Just watching her and the genuine  _care_ and attention that she poured into these kids, it was obvious to see that she was doing what she loved, what she was good at.

He found himself missing that feeling.

It wasn't that he didn't love being there with Annie. That was the furthest thing from the truth. In fact, it was the simple fact that he loved being there that  _kept_ him from spiralling the way he had with Sinister, from focusing on the team and the school that he felt like he'd never be able to lead again — he'd never be able to make up for his mistakes and  _earn_ it back.

He'd pushed a lot of that to the back of his mind in the summer he spent with Annie, but now, as the school year started and Scott watched Annie pour herself into it… he couldn't ignore it anymore.

Over in Westchester, the institute would be welcoming back any kids that went home for the summer, as well as a few new students that simply came with the start of any new semester. There would be the rush of kids discovering their mutations, learning for themselves that Storm wasn't going to let them get away with  _anything_ …

There would be kids bragging about how they were going to be X-Men one day. Kids learning for the first time to embrace their mutations. Kids experiencing the Danger Room for the first time.

Scott knew that Storm had things well in hand. He wasn't worried about that. He knew that she was running the school perfectly — as always.

It was just that… well.

Scott put the thought out of his mind and instead focused on working around the house with Annie. With both of them working now, he made an effort to put together dinners — though they weren't nearly as elegant as Annie's — when she came home worn out from something or other, whether it was a kid having a tantrum that day or a parent that Annie wanted to strangle for not paying attention to their own kids…

That's what he was doing when Annie came home from school that day in a good mood, wrapping him around the waist from behind to rest her head in the space between his shoulders with a little smile. Even though it was only a few weeks into the school year, it was already starting to get cold enough that Scott had opted to put together a stew from the leftovers of the roast Annie made the other day.

And, just for something new to try, he'd even put together some cornbread from the recipe book Annie had. It wasn't a published cookbook with an index and page numbers for what he was looking for — instead, it was a binder full of handwritten recipes, organized by types of food like "breads," "desserts," and "breakfasts."

Annie squeezed him slightly around the middle, still smiling into his back. "Smells delicious."

"That's a compliment, coming from you," he said with a smile as he twisted around so that he could face her and properly kiss her.

She simply responded by smiling up at him and standing on the tips of her toes to pull him down into a kiss. She always smelled and tasted like a combination of graham crackers, hand sanitizer, and sweaty kids when she came home from school.

"I have a favor to ask," she said — of course waiting until he'd gotten lost in her before she sprang that on him, because Scott was convinced she got a kick out of it.

"Anything you want," he said with a little smile before he went back to kissing her and didn't stop until the oven went off to let them know the cornbread was done. Because, as it turned out, he didn't much mind playing Annie's game once he'd figured out that she could get totally derailed if he played dirty right back.

Annie smiled at him as she went to the oven, her hair a little out of place and her shirt pushed up slightly on one side. "Anton was supposed to come and read to the kids this week, but something came up," she explained.

He raised an eyebrow her way, already following her train of thought and shaking his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"But Leslie Ann asked if  _you_ would fill in," Annie said, giving him a significant look over her shoulder as she started to pull down cups for dinner.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Scott said again. "I brought down an angry mob just by being unconscious and needing a hospital room, remember?"

Annie put her hands on her hips as she scrutinized him, her chin tipped up and every inch of her frame screaming "fight me." Which wasn't exactly helping Scott's ability to argue his point, since it was the times that she did that when he wanted to kiss her the most. "I thought you were an X-Man," she said.

"I was," he said, frowning a bit at her tone.

"Then start acting like one!" She reached over and hit him with the palm of her hand on his arm. "You've got every right to live a normal life!"

Scott almost laughed as he stepped into Annie and pulled her into a kiss, then did laugh when the kiss broke and she was still maintaining the glare. "It's not  _me_ I'm worried about," he explained at last.

"Well, I would  _hope_ you're not worried about the  _morons_ who—"

Scott kissed her again until she finally relaxed a bit, and he was shaking his head even before he'd finished. "You have a beautiful life here, Annie," he told her gently.

"What… what has that got to do with anything?" she asked in a tone that was breathless enough to get Scott grinning all over again.

"It means," he said, still resting his forehead against hers, his lips moving to form the words against her mouth, "that you love your job, and I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize it."

Annie let out a small scoffing noise that Scott knew meant she didn't agree with him in the least, but that didn't stop her from stepping into him and kissing him hard enough that he took a step back and hit the edge of the counter — and grinned into the kiss.

The dinner was completely forgotten as Annie kissed him harder and he picked her up, starting to carry her out of the kitchen to somewhere a little softer, before she finally pulled back when her back hit the couch as Scott set her down. He grinned at her for a moment and started to kiss her neck, and she turned slightly to kiss the side of his head.

"I love my job," she agreed in a soft tone, her breath on his cheek, "but I love you too — and I'm not going to let anyone stand in the way of l _iving my life_  with a man I love. And that includes asking him to be part of my passions and joys."

He stopped what he was doing to face her properly, not even bothering to hide the look of shock on his face, his lips slightly parted — which Annie took advantage of to steal a kiss that dragged her teeth over his bottom lip until he caught her up with her again and simply pressed her into the cushions, whispering gently in her ear that he loved her before he had even thought about the consequences.

* * *

Annie was in an excellent mood that day. Scott had taken the time during his break from the library job to come and read to her class of Kindergarteners, and as she has suspected, he was a hit.

The kids were too young to really know who he was out of his X-Man uniform, though a few of them complimented him on his "cool sunglasses." They didn't really care who he was as long as he read them their favorite stories, and they were all tickled by the "Fox in Sox" performance he gave after two other stories.

He was a natural at it, though Annie had definitely noticed that he was taking his cues from Leslie Ann. Annie's niece had kept making bigger and more dramatic motions at Scott the whole time he was reading — so that by the time he was finished, he was almost hamming it up for the kids, taking big, deep breaths before every really difficult "Fox in Sox" tongue twister before he would rush through it as fast as he could, earning peals of laughter from the kids.

They were all  _so_ impressed that he could get through the "cheesy cheese" part of the book in one breath, too.

Annie had suspected he would be good at this kind of thing from the way he interacted with her nieces when they would have Sunday dinners with Anton and Rachel. He didn't even seem to be aware of what he was doing when he did it; he just paid attention to the girls enough to know what they liked to do.

And watching him with her group of Kindergarteners… there was something wonderful about it. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed to forget to stop smiling when he was around little kids, or maybe it was the way this tall, trained X-Man turned into the most gentle person she'd ever seen around them, letting the shyest girl in the class sit on his lap with her thumb in her mouth so she could get away from the boys who had been too rowdy beside her.

She just didn't understand how anyone could be scared of Scott. She didn't understand what people saw in him that made them think he was anything like dangerous. This was a guy who let Leslie Ann boss him around on how to color Disney princes in her coloring book. How could anyone hate him?

Unfortunately, that question was very clearly answered when she got home — ahead of Scott, who had taken a longer shift to make up for being back late at lunch.

Annie stopped in the driveway, staring at the brightly-painted words that had been sprayed into the garage door and across the brick and onto her front door. Some of them were nothing she hadn't heard growing up on an Army base, but there were others… colorful ways to refer to Scott's genetics as well as her relationship to him.

She stared at the words for a long time after she got out of the car, her hand over her mouth and tears starting to pool in her eyes. Why couldn't they just… leave him alone?

She had only just decided to call up Anton — this was vandalism, and she was  _not_ going to let anyone get away with it — when she outright startled as a man's voice called out, "Enjoying the artwork?"

She spun around to see a couple sneering faces of two  _very_ drunk men. She glared at them and took a step back — not because they were intimidating but because she needed to center herself if she had to fight them off. She was an Army brat and one of three sisters. She knew how to handle herself.

"What's the matter, Paul?" she asked the leering blonde, eyeing him up and down. "Lose your job  _again_?"

Paul sneered at her as he continued to lumber toward her. "Shut your mouth, you little slut."

Annie glared at him, her hands balled in fists. She reached around to her back pocket to hit the speed dial that would call up her brother-in-law but never took her gaze off of the two men. Paul had brought his stupid brother, Ethan, and between the two of them, they barely shared one IQ point on the best of days, in her opinion. But she wasn't about to ignore the fact that they had her outnumbered, either.

She wasn't surprised that Paul was the first one to stumble toward her, and she raised her hands in fists in front of her — though that just prompted a sneering sort of chuckle.

"You gonna fight me, sweetheart?"

She glared at him, wrinkling her nose against the alcohol that she could smell obviously on his breath. "Just get smart and walk away, Paul," she warned him. "You have no idea how much trouble you're 'bout to be in."

But Paul just smiled widely, walking forward until he was resting one hand against the garage door, right at the base of the letter "F". "Gimme a kiss."

"You're insane," Annie said, shaking her head as she moved to turn away from him and saw that his brother was coming from the other side.

She clenched her hands. Fine. If they wanted a fight, she'd give them a fight.

"You kiss the m-"

Paul hadn't even finished what he was saying before Annie hit him with a wicked one-two, first in the stomach to get him to double over so she could reach him better and then in the throat to stop him from being such a  _creep_.

"Last chance," Annie said. "Walk away now, or you won't be walkin' at all."

But Paul simply looked furious as he massaged his throat, and Ethan moved forward to grab Annie's arm. She responded by kicking him in between his legs — because her dad had taught her that if boys played dirty, she should play dirty too.

Ethan doubled over, a sort of high-pitched noise escaping him, but before Annie could take another step back, Paul grabbed her by her hair.

She reached up to grab her hair at the base so it would hurt less and then stepped into Paul's attack, putting her knee in his gut, which she knew had to already be bruised, and he let go of her again.

Her eyes were watering a bit from the hard tug on her hair as she backed up. She was completely prepared to take off running before she heard an angry sort of sound a moment before someone grabbed Paul and hauled him back by the shoulders — and she watched Scott lay into the guy with a solid punch that sent him sprawling onto his back.

She had never seen Scott look that  _livid_ before, but that was the only word she could use to describe the expression on his face, his lips pulled back, the usual glow behind his glasses somehow even brighter than usual. And he just looked angrier when Paul tried to get to his feet and Ethan tried to back him up — though even Annie could see that wasn't going to end well.

It was just a matter of good timing that Anton got there at the same moment that Scott simply grabbed Ethan by the hand he tried to lay on him and flipped him over his shoulder so that the man landed hard on the driveway, and Paul hadn't even gotten back up all the way before Scott hit him with an uppercut that knocked him out as well.

Scott barely seemed to notice Anton getting out of the police car as he looked to Annie first, the angry expression giving way into something much more concerned. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" he asked.

Annie shook her head, her lips slightly parted in shock. Now that her "fight or flight" response wasn't turned up several notches, she could feel herself going a bit numb, and she let Scott wrap her up as she buried her face in his chest. "I'm okay," she promised, knowing that she  _needed_ to when she wrapped her arms around Scott and could feel how tense he was. "I'm fine; they didn't hurt me."

Scott held onto her that much tighter and kissed her hair. "I'm sorry; I'm sorry, Annie," he whispered to her quietly, which was the thing that finally got her to cry, hot tears blazing down her cheeks as she stewed in the  _unfairness_ of it all, that he thought he had to apologize, when these men — these — these  _animals_ ….

Both of them looked over at Anton when they heard the unmistakeable sound of handcuffs as Anton just quietly got to work taking the two men into custody. "I was on the way anyway," Anton told Annie when he met her gaze. "Couple ladies in the neighborhood reported rowdy drunks."

Annie nodded and tried to surreptitiously wipe her face. She was more angry than upset, but she was having a hard time putting words to it — right up until the moment Anton started to call in what had happened and she just… lost her temper.

"I hope you put 'em away for good this time," she snapped. "Stupid, bigoted — they have  _no right_ to come to my house — and what business is it of  _theirs_ what I do, anyway?" When Scott shifted slightly to hold her a little tighter and started to say something to calm her down, she cut him off. "I mean it! There's  _no_ call for this — this —  _stupidity._ And they're just  _real_ lucky they didn't lose somethin' more'n consciousness!"

"Annie, we got 'em," Anton promised. "We got 'em flappin' their mouths and throwin' around harassment and assault on you, not to mention catchin' 'em red-handed at the scene of the crime." He gestured at the two men before he shook his head. "They're not gettin' outta this one, I promise you."

"Good," Annie said with a little sniff before she looked up at Scott again. His jaw was locked, and he had been incredibly quiet this whole time, so she didn't know what he was thinking, but she knew that he was upset. She could feel it in the way his every muscle was tense against her as he held her. "Scott?"

He frowned for a moment before he took a deep breath and looked back down at her. "I'm sorry, Annie. If it wasn't for—"

"Oh no you don't," she said, putting a finger in the center of his chest. "I already told you, Mr. Summers: I love you. And it's gonna take a whole lot more'n some stupid  _ne'er-do-wells_ to change that."

For a moment, Scott looked like he might argue with her, so she simply stood on her toes and pulled him into a long and involved kiss that was more or less as involved as she was willing to get when her brother-in-law was standing right there. And when it broke, there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm just glad you're okay," he told her gently.

She couldn't help but smile up at him. "Of course I am. I've got my dashing hero," she said.

Scott raised his eyebrows over his glasses but didn't say anything, instead giving her another squeeze before he turned to the graffiti covering the front of their house and let out a breath of obvious frustration.

"City'll pay for it to get cleaned up," Anton told him. He had been staying out of their conversation as much as possible, but at that point, it was more of an official offer of help than anything else, anyway.

"Thanks, but I've got it," Scott said in an almost dull tone before he headed inside.

Annie started after him but paused when Anton put a hand on her arm. She turned to face her brother-in-law, who was wearing a look of deep concern. "You sure you're alright?"

Annie brushed him off and nodded. "More mad than anythin' else," she admitted, gesturing to the graffiti on her home. "He's not  _doin'_ anythin' to 'em."

Anton gave her a pointed look. "It ain't never been 'bout what we  _do_."

Annie bit her lip, knowing she didn't have a response to that. Anton was right, and she knew it. She wrapped her arms around herself at the elbows and let Anton hug her before Scott came back out.

He wasn't holding a bucket of water or anything that she might have expected to see. Instead, he had simply changed out of his glasses and into a visor, and as she watched, he put a hand up to the side of his forehead, fiddling with the controls to produce an incredibly fine beam that scraped off the paint — a few layers of it in some places.

And for as mad as Annie was in that moment, she couldn't help but stop to watch Scott working. She had never actually  _seen_ the optic blasts that were always hiding just behind his eyes. She had never seen him as  _Cyclops_ , just as Scott Summers, the guy who had almost died on her couch.

But now, she couldn't help but stare at the man blasting graffiti off of her home with nothing but his gaze and a visor to help him direct it. She would be lying if she said she understood how it worked — or if she said she was entirely unbothered by it. After all, she wasn't an idiot. It was dangerous.

And yet there was a part of her that realized this was the first time Scott had  _allowed_ himself to use his powers. He had been holding back this huge part of himself — and it suddenly occurred to her that he thought he had to do it for her sake.

And she wasn't going to stand for that. She didn't  _care_ what those idiots in town might say. Scott was one of the sweetest men she'd ever met, and she wasn't going to let anyone get away with putting him down.

She waited until he was finished scraping off the spray-paint and had stepped back to look over his work and make sure he hadn't missed anything before she darted forward, wrapping her arms around him waist from behind and resting her cheek against his back.

"I'll repaint it tomorrow," Scott said, but she was already shaking her head at him.

"We'll get to it later," she promised, tightening her hold on him before she stepped back and around him so that she was looking up at him. She made a point to reach up and run her fingers over the top of the visor, biting her lip slightly as Scott watched her carefully, obviously taking in her reaction — so she was sure to smile at him as she lowered her hand. "I've never seen you do that before."

Scott frowned at her for a moment, seeming almost wary as he watched her.

She shifted her hand so that she was resting her hand against his cheek, cupping his face. "It's pretty impressive," she said, finally getting a small smile out of him.

"That was one of the lowest settings possible," he admitted.

She smiled a little wider and stood on her toes to kiss him. "Man of mystery," she teased him lightly.

"Not really," he said, though he was smiling now. "I'm sure if you watch the news…"

She waved her hand. "Not really the same," she said before she kissed him again. "I like the man I've got, not the one on TV."

At that, he smiled a little wider and finally leaned down to give her a more involved kiss.


	17. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I swear I didn't mean to put up a Halloween chapter on Halloween but omg the timing makes me GRIN.

 

* * *

Annie would have been lying if she said that she wasn't burning with curiosity.

For weeks —  _weeks_ — after the incident with Paul and his brother, she had been sneaking glances over at Scott when she thought he wasn't looking, though she was sure he was well-aware of what she was doing. She hoped he didn't mind.

She had only seen a little bit of what he was capable of, by his own admission, and she was surprised by how much it left her wanting to see more. He always had those glasses on; he had to use that visor to control it. But what did it  _look_ like?

It had been one thing when it was completely theoretical and she had come to terms with the fact that he was always going to keep his eyes hidden behind the glasses. But now, it was a whole other thing entirely, because she had  _seen_ the red beams coming out of his eyes, had heard the high-pitched sort of noise that they made.

That was the lowest setting possible, he'd said.

What did it look like when he really let loose? What did it  _sound_ like? It was one thing to see news reports or to see him standing with the X-Men in the newspaper, but being that  _close_ to him when it happened…

She had to admit that she was a little bit intimidated.

Of course, she couldn't help berating herself for the thought. She had spent the last few months getting to know Scott, and she knew that he wasn't intimidating… except that he could knock out two men without breaking a sweat or even really thinking about it. Except that she had seen the injuries that spoke to how much someone had to restrain him to stop him.

She was dating one of the most powerful mutants in the world, and it was just now starting to sink in for her what that meant.

It didn't change the fact that she was completely in love with him, of course. It didn't change the fact that he made her dinner with her family recipe book, that he played with Leslie Ann and Mary Beth like a big kid himself, that he remembered the names of all of her family members, that he loved the snow and seemed to relax the most when the first snowfall had happened early in the season, a week before Halloween.

It was just that she noticed more now. She noticed the fact that he was always watching the streets and seemed to know where the exits were whenever they were in public. She noticed the way he held himself — back straight and his head angled slightly away from people — so that no one could easily get to the glasses to effectively blind him. She noticed the fact that he slept lightly and was awake in an instant.

She had seen all these things before, in her friends and her family. She knew what they were signs of. But seeing his powers for herself…

She hated that it changed the way she looked at him. But the truth was, it had.

Scott didn't say anything about the fact that she had started to watch him a little closer lately. He never said anything, really, though he was quieter ever since what had happened, almost wary, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But things didn't come to a head until Halloween, when they had gone over to Rachel and Anton's house to ooh and ahh over Leslie Ann's princess costume and Mary Beth's Tinker Bell costume before the girls headed out to do some trick-or-treating.

"How're the kids, Annie?" Anton asked as the three of them sat in the living room with a bowl of candy nearby for the kids that came to ring the doorbell. Rachel was with the girls, though Annie knew that she would be back before long. Mary Beth was too young to do the whole loop of the neighborhood, and she'd probably fall asleep on Rachel's shoulder by the time Leslie Ann was done.

"Oh, you know, I was glad to turn them over to their parents after all the Halloween hype today," Annie laughed lightly.

"Yeah, you sugared 'em up real good," Anton chuckled.

"How was Leslie Ann for you?"

"Same as always. Real excited that you both would be comin' over," Anton said with a little smirk. "Couldn't decide between bein' a princess or an X-Man this year."

At that, Scott's head came up in obvious surprise. "She what?" he asked.

"Yeah, she wanted to ask if she could throw snowballs at people and say she was Iceman," Anton chuckled.

"Trouble," Annie laughed, shaking her head as she leaned back into Scott.

"Yeah, no idea where she gets it from," Anton said, still smirking to himself before he got up to hand out some candy to the trick-or-treaters that came to the door.

"You know, she's not too far off," Scott said, and Annie couldn't help but raise her eyebrows as she looked up at him and laced her fingers through his. "Only Iceman wouldn't need the  _excuse_  to throw snowballs."

"Iceman isn't five years old," Annie pointed out with a small smile.

At that, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Debateable."

Annie couldn't help but laugh at that as she squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek. "He can't be that bad," she said.

Scott's smirk widened for a moment before he let out a breath and shook his head. "No, he's not," he admitted. "But if you'd met him, you'd know how close that is."

"I'd like to," Annie said, the words tumbling off her lips before she had really thought about them.

Scott raised an eyebrow at her over the top of his glasses.

Annie smiled almost shyly as she stretched up to kiss him. "You never really talk about the X-Men," she said softly, resting her forehead against his. "But Scott, you spend all this time with my family. I want to know yours. I don't want you to think you have to keep them separate from your life here."

Scott frowned at her for a moment, watching her carefully, before he took a deep breath and let it out. "Annie, I'm not an X-Man anymore."

"And you think that's going to make you care about them any less?" Annie challenged.

"What? No. I—"

"Then I want to know about them," Annie told him. When Scott still looked like he didn't quite believe her, she gave up trying to argue with him and simply kissed him hard and passionately enough that she knocked him over, and Anton had to clear his throat when he got back in the room.

"Y'all ain't gonna do this when the girls are back, right?" Anton said, though it was clear to see he was highly entertained.

Scott was smiling at Annie, though, so she felt like she was totally justified. "I promise, the girls are safe with us," she said, smiling a little wider up at Scott before she couldn't help but steal another kiss.

Anton just shook his head at the pair of them. "I'm gonna go refill the candy," he decided, giving the two of them a little privacy, even if there was still plenty of candy in the bowl.

Annie smiled after her brother-in-law and then turned back to Scott to kiss him again. "Really, Scott," she said when the kiss broke and they both had to take a moment to breathe. "I want to be part of  _your_ life too."

"You are," he all but breathed in her ear.

"All of it, Mr. Summers," she replied in the same quiet whisper.

But Scott didn't get to respond to her, not really, because just then, Rachel walked in the door with both of her girls — a lot earlier than expected. Leslie Ann's dress was frumpled, and she had a scraped knee and chin. It was obvious she had been crying, but she was being obstinate with Rachel, outright refusing to let her mother see her boo-boos.

When she saw Anton, she went running to her dad, who swept her up and made a big deal out of looking concerned about her nicks and scrapes. "What happened, baby doll?" Anton asked her.

Leslie Ann sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her fists. "Boys are stupid."

Anton just smiled at that. "They sure are, baby girl."

"Anton," Rachel said, shaking her head at him as she set Mary Beth down so that the wriggly little girl could run around on her own — though Annie snatched her up and sat her on her lap before she could get to the big bowl of candy. "She got into a fight."

Anton frowned at that and turned toward Leslie Ann was his most disapproving look. "Leslie Ann Wright, we use our  _words_ , not our fists."

"But he deserved it," Leslie Ann argued obstinately. "I just wanted to tell a boy that his Wolverine costume was really good, and another boy said I was stupid!" She was clearly too upset by the whole thing to go on and buried her face in her dad's shoulder as Anton looked to Rachel for the rest of the story.

Rachel let out a sigh. "A couple fifth grade boys — that she tried to take on  _by herself_." She shot her daughter a look that said she was incredibly tired. "They said real Avengers weren't mutants, and that was why Wolverine died, because he wasn't a  _real_ Avenger."

Annie could immediately see why Leslie Ann had taken offense to the boys, considering how much she  _adored_ Scott, and by extension, the X-Men, but she was distracted from saying anything when she noticed that Scott had fallen into a serious glare and that he was sitting up a little straighter, his hands in fists. He wasn't saying anything, but Annie had seen that look enough times to know that he was furious — not at the little boy, obviously, but at whoever had taught him to say things like that.

She hardly even thought about it before she shifted Mary Beth off of her lap and onto Scott's with a cheerful, "Here, Mary Beth, why don't you play with Scott for a while," that Scott couldn't even fully react to before Mary Beth had a hold of his shirt and was  _beaming_ up at him.

"Hi!" Mary Beth beamed up at him. "Hi 'Cott!"

Annie couldn't help but smile when she saw Scott visibly take a breath and start to relax with the little girl in his arms, giving her a little smile as he forced his attention off of Leslie Ann's story onto Mary Beth. "Hi, Mary Beth. You look very pretty in your costume," he said.

Mary Beth grinned and pulled on one of her wings. "I Tink."

"Yes, you are," Scott agreed with a little nod, though he somehow managed to look over Mary Beth's shoulder at Annie with a  _look_ that clearly told Annie he knew what she was doing.

Annie smiled sweetly at him and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Relax, sweetheart."

Scott shook his head at her for that one, but Mary Beth was determined to occupy his time, so there wasn't much he could say about it at the moment, especially when she grabbed his face with her hands, one on either cheek, so she could tell him about how "Tink" was so pretty and so was she.

Which was all well and good, and Scott was nodding seriously and agreeing with everything she said — right up until she finally let go of his face and decided that she wanted to grab his glasses too.

Annie could have sworn the whole neighborhood went silent in that moment.

Her instinct was, of course, to snatch Mary Beth away before she could get hurt — though she realized belatedly that it wasn't necessary; Scott had closed his eyes tightly as soon as he had even the slightest inkling of what was happening.

But the damage had already been done. Annie's quick snatch had scared Mary Beth, and the little girl simply started crying loudly, screaming out her displeasure as Annie tried to shush her and at the same time pry the glasses from between her pudgy fingers.

And Scott… Scott was frozen.

Annie suddenly felt the rush of shame color her whole face red as she watched him sitting there with his every muscle tense, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes as tightly closed as it was possible for them to be. He didn't budge an inch until Annie gently pressed his glasses into his hand, and even then, it was only to let out the slightest of breaths before he put his glasses back on and looked over at Annie and Mary Beth for only a moment before he quietly excused himself.

Annie felt her throat constrict as she saw him duck into the next room over, and she closed her eyes for a moment, cursing herself for her reaction. She should have trusted him. She  _knew_ how he was with her nieces; what on earth would make her think she had to…

She swallowed hard as Rachel rushed over to take Mary Beth and gently reassure the crying baby — and with that, Annie was out the door faster than she could blink.

When she got to the kitchen, it was obvious that Scott was composing himself, leaning with his forearm on the wall over his head, his shoulders slightly slumped — but he immediately straightened when he heard the door open and turned her way.

She didn't need to be able to see behind the glasses to know that he was upset, but she wished she could, so she could be sure to look him in the eye when she apologized.

But Scott managed to beat her to the punch: "I'm sorry, Annie."

She was already shaking her head as she walked toward him. "No, it's my fault — you had it under control and I just panicked," she said, all in one breath and as quickly as she could get it out so that he couldn't try to argue against her point.

"No, you were right — that was the right thing to do," Scott said in an almost dull tone. He shook his head and sat down at the table, and Annie frowned before she skirted around the table to take a seat right beside him and rest her hand on his arm.

"She's fine," Annie assured him. "I was the one who scared her, grabbing her like that."

"It's fine," Scott told her.

She frowned as she watched him, especially considering he hadn't really moved since he sat down. She didn't know how much was because of what had happened with Mary Beth and how much was from Leslie Ann's fight and how much of this had just been building, but she recognized the signs and knew that he was in his head.

She shifted so that she was leaning over slightly and took his hand to give it a little squeeze. "This is still new to me," she said. "You have to let me get used to all of this."

"Annie, it's fine."

"It's not, and stop lying to me, Mr. Summers, because I  _know_ you're not as good at it as you think you are," Annie said with one eyebrow raised — which as least got a little smirk out of him.

"Annie…"

She crossed her arms and waited, one eyebrow raised as he looked down at his hands, but when he hadn't said anything at all, she simply let out a frustrated sound, reached out, and grabbed his hands, pulling herself forward until she was close enough to steal a long kiss.

When the kiss broke, she didn't move too far, simply watching him for a moment. It was times like this that she wished she could see past the glasses, so she could have an easier idea what he was thinking, but she knew that he still was in his head. "Tell me about them," she breathed out softly.

Scott frowned, surprised by the request. "What?"

"Your family. The X-Men," Annie said. "Tell me about all of it, Scott."

"That…" Scott stared at her for a long time, clearly ordering his thoughts. "That's a long conversation, and we're at your sister's house."

"Then we'll pick it up when we get home, but Scott, there's so much that I don't know, that I need to learn," she said. She still wasn't very far from him, and she could have kissed him for how close they were, but she didn't, simply letting the closeness speak for her as to how she felt about him. "I want to know about all of it — good and bad. Don't spare my feelings anymore, Scott; I'm not made of glass."

"I'm not an—"

"If you try and tell me you're not an X-Man anymore, I may just have to hit you," Annie huffed out, and the angry tone to her voice was enough to surprise Scott into silence again. "Even if you never go back to the team, they're still your family, Mr. Summers. Am I wrong?"

He stared at her for a moment, but she could see the smile ticking up the corner of his mouth. "Of course not."

"Then if you're not going to bring me down to that school to meet them, the least you can do is  _tell_ me about them," Annie reasoned. "If that's the closest I can get to meeting your family, I suppose I'll have to take it."

The little smile at the corner of Scott's mouth ticked up again as he shook his head. "Annie…"

"No, I'm right about this, and you know I am, and you've been sittin' miserable ever since Paul and his idiot brother showed up and it  _ain't right_ when you know that I love you and all I need is to know what you need me to do and—"

She didn't get much further into her rant before Scott had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into a long kiss, and hidden in the kiss, she could feel him smiling against her mouth, which really only had her melting into him.

But then there was a little giggle from the doorway, and they broke apart and looked to the door to see that Leslie Ann was sitting there with a  _huge_ , troublemaking grin on her face.

"You  _love_ him, Aunt Annie," Leslie Ann giggled delightedly, all but dancing in place. "You  _lo-o-o-ove_ him!"

Annie couldn't help but smile as she waved her niece over to kiss the top of her head. "I really do," she agreed, which got an even broader smile out of Leslie Ann before she climbed up into Scott's lap and gave him a big hug as well.

"You're my favorite uncle," she whispered, her eyes wide and serious. "And I'm gonna grow up to be just like you one day, okay?"

Scott couldn't help but smile at the little girl when she saw being so genuinely serious, and he nodded. "I bet you're going to be amazing, Leslie Ann."

She grinned at that and gave him one more hug before she skipped off to go eat her Halloween candy, though she turned around in the doorway and waggled her finger at them both. "No kissing too much. That's a rule!" she warned them before skipping out the door, humming to herself.

Annie couldn't help but laugh as she watched the little girl leave and then turned back to Scott. "I don't take orders from my niece," she said, which got an honest laugh out of him before she went right back to kissing him.


	18. In the Shadow of the Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott and Annie finally address the redheaded elephant in the room.

 

* * *

 

The days were getting shorter and colder as winter set in, but that didn't seem to bother Annie and Scott in the least. Not when it gave them an excuse to curl up in a good blanket.

Which was also, conveniently enough, the perfect excuse for Annie to get Scott to actually  _tell_ her anything about his family.

Annie knew that Scott thrived on a plan. On consistency. On expectations and responsibilities. And so she had established a new rule that she insisted he follow — "My house; my rules" — and told him that before bed, every night, when they crawled under the covers together and he wrapped her up in his arms — he had to tell her something about his family, and she would tell him something about hers.

It had gone slowly at first.

"I've got a little brother," he said the first night, which was news to Annie. After all, she knew generally who the X-Men were, and Cyclops was the leader, but she didn't know the personal interplay and relationships. She hadn't known he had a  _brother_.

She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, clearly waiting for more of an explanation, before he nodded slowly, almost to himself. "His name's Alex. I haven't seen him in a while; I think he's still in space."

"You're not close?" she asked softly.

He leaned back so that he was propped up against the pillows, and she rested her head on his chest, thinking it might be easier if he didn't have to look at her and could just talk to the ceiling or something. "Not really," he admitted. "We were separated when we were kids after our parents died. And by the time we reconnected, we were kind of our own people."

She kept her hand on his chest as she listened to what he had to say and could hear the regret ringing in every word. "He's still your brother," she said. "And I know you love him," she was sure to add — because he looked like he needed to hear that reminder.

"Yeah, I do," he said quietly, though when he didn't say anything else for a while, she picked her head up to look at him.

Well, she was making small progress anyway.

She took a deep breath and decided that a few sentences about his little brother was at least a step in the right direction. So she could let him off the hook for anything further. For the moment. "Alright. So, I see the brother I didn't know you have and raise you the fact that you're going to meet my nephew, Aman, come Christmas when Theresa and Craig come up here," she said.

"They can't make Thanksgiving?"

"No," Annie said, though she was smirking to herself that Scott had remembered her sister was going to try and come up earlier than that. "But I think you'll like him. Just be warned: he's  _very_ shy. He'll probably take the entire visit to warm up to you enough to say hello."

Scott nodded. "I'll try not to be too insulted," he said with a smirk.

She shook her head at him and decided not to say anything about how he could so easily talk about her family but not his own. She wasn't going to poke that, not when she had a  _plan_ to get more information out of him. She could be patient — to a point, anyway.

"He has a real thing about dinosaurs right now," she said. "So that'll probably help."

"You think I should bribe him with dinosaur toys?" Scott asked with a teasing little smile.

She laughed at him and then kissed him. "If you think you need the help."

His smile widened at that before he simply kissed her into the pillows in response, pulling her tight to him until she couldn't help but laugh at him.

And it went on like that for weeks.

Sometimes, she would only get small stories. She could tell that he had thought about them all day, about what he was going to tell her. And she appreciated that he never spoke badly about any of them. He told her about the school and the kids there. He told her about the first time he met Iceman, or the fact that Beast would say "oh my stars and garters" when he was surprised, or the fact that he had been so  _proud_ of his team for every one of their victories — even the ones as simple as finally asking each other out.

Her favorites were stories about Charles Xavier. Scott talked about him in a way he simply didn't talk about anyone else, in a sort of affectionate tone that she didn't think he even realized he was using.

She didn't think he realized how many of the stories involved 'the professor' and all that he had done for Scott. Even if it was clear some of the hero worship was gone now that Scott was older, it was also abundantly clear that Scott loved him deeply.

This was his  _family_ , and Annie drank in every word. After all, even if she did, eventually, meet the X-Men, she would never be able to meet some of them like Charles Xavier or Wolverine.

She loved the way he talked about all of them. Even the smallest stories were filled with such obvious affection that Annie couldn't help wonder how he could stand to be here, with her, and not with the X-Men. Every new story confirmed to her that little bit more that he missed it badly.

She didn't want to pry into why he had left the X-Men. He knew that it had been a hard decision, and she knew that he was worn, tired of fighting — even if he wasn't tired of the people who had fought by his side. So she didn't press on that account.

But she did press on the people themselves, trying to draw more details from Scott's bare bones accounts. She wanted to know his family. She wanted to know his life before he came to Alaska.

He would usually give her details when she pressed, and it was almost always rewarding — more times than not, it resulted in some new story that had her falling in love with these people she had never met.

But in all those stories, she noticed that he was always so very careful when he spoke about Jean Grey. He almost never talked about her, and when he did, he didn't exactly give her more than a passing reference. "Jean was there too" seemed to be the common theme if she was mentioned at all.

Annie knew who Jean was. She wasn't  _that_ far removed from reality. But she had been living with Scott for months now, and the more stories she heard, the more she realized: there was a redheaded specter still hanging over the man she was in love with. And before she fell any further, she had to deal with it. For her own sake.

* * *

Scott could tell that Annie was building up to something, but he wasn't sure whether or not he should be worried.

Whenever she had made up her mind about some decision, she always got this sort of frantic energy about her, and she would spend her time making more elaborate meals than usual, kneading breads and making desserts. She said that it gave her something to do with her hands, and considering how good a cook she was, Scott certainly wasn't going to complain.

But it might also mean that she was gearing up to ask him for something. Another reading day at the school, a weekend watching Rachel and Anton's kids, or something like that.

He knew better than to interrupt her when she was in this sort of "stress baking" mode, as she called it, so he simply kissed her when he got home from work and helped with the dishes and the general cleaning up around the house, sure she would get around to whatever it was when she was ready.

It wasn't until they were just getting ready for bed, though, that she finally let him in on whatever it was she had been chewing on for so long.

"Tell me about Jean."

He froze, his lips slightly parted as he stared at her.

He honestly panicked. He had been trying so hard to keep Jean away from this relationship, to move away from her memory, to push her away from the life he was building with Annie — and he'd  _thought_ he had done a great job of it. He'd  _thought_ he had been careful not to make comparisons, not to make Annie feel like she was a replacement. Not to do those things Emma had always accused him of doing.

"She…" He felt the sentence die before he could even fully form it. He didn't know where to  _start_.

But Annie didn't say anything. She didn't step in or prompt him with any further questions like she would usually do when he couldn't quite find the words to put to a situation. Instead, it seemed like she was perfectly content to let him flounder until he found  _something_ to say, and she kept her gaze steady as she waited.

He swallowed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "She's dead," he said, first and foremost. He wanted to make sure that much was clear: that there was no danger of Jean coming back, of him leaving Annie.

Even if that had happened before. She had come back before. So many times.

But this was different. Jean had been clear about wanting to stay gone, and he didn't want her to come back, either. She was done. He knew this was better for her.

"I did actually know that much," Annie said, still watching Scott evenly. It wasn't the same way Emma always looked when Jean came up. There was no accusation — not yet, anyway — no anger. She was just… waiting for him to say something incriminating; he knew she was.

He wasn't sure where to go from there. How to even start to explain what it had been like, caught up with the most powerful telepath in the world, having someone in his mind who understood his every thought before he could even form it, having a connection that he knew he would never be able to replicate with anyone else.

He didn't know how to start to tell Annie that he could still feel it sometimes, in the corners of his mind, the places that she had touched that still burned, even after all these years. It wasn't a destructive kind of fire, either — more warm and inviting than anything else. But it was still there. And he doubted it would ever leave.

He didn't know how to explain what he'd felt when he had played host to the Phoenix's power, how the Phoenix had been  _Jean_ in a way that he still couldn't put words to. And how it hadn't been at the same time.

He glanced back at Annie, who was still waiting, and let his shoulders drop as he tried to refocus. "She… was part of the original five," he said slowly. That was safe.

"Honestly, Scott, it's not like I'm asking you if you're having an affair," Annie said, waving her hand. "She was part of your past." She pulled her knees up as she readjusted the way she was sitting on the bed. "I'm well-aware of the fact that I'm dating a widower. But I don't want you to think you need to treat someone you loved like they don't exist. I  _can't_ believe you would think I would be so shallow to be jealous of a dead woman."

Scott stared at her for a moment, completely taken aback by her reaction. Every single time Jean came up before, with others, it had always been hard. There were comparisons, accusations.

He could practically hear Emma telling him he'd never loved her at the height of some of their fights.

"I just… don't want you to think…" Scott trailed off, trying to reorder his thoughts. "She's nothing like you."

Annie nodded slowly. "Would it help if I pointed out that I've never dated anyone like you?" she asked with a small smile. "The team affiliation alone…"

He couldn't help but smirk at her for that one. "I just don't want you to think that I'm… settling. Or comparing. Or anything like that," he tried to explain.

"In all the time I've known you, Mr. Summers, I've never heard a word of complaint," she said with a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I'm not too worried."

"Alright. Good." He nodded a few times to himself, honestly relieved to hear that much. After all, Annie was nothing like anyone he'd ever known. She was so easy to get lost in without the  _need_ for the telepathy, and he did  _not_ want to screw that up.

He let the silence fill the air between them for a while longer, still trying to decide where to start, before he finally nodded to himself and looked up to meet her gaze. "I was still a teenager when I met her," he admitted. "And I fell hard. And fast." He shook his head. "It took me a long time to work up the courage to tell her as much, and I just about died of shock when she agreed to go out with me."

"Good taste," Annie said with a little smirk.

Scott couldn't help but return the smirk for that one. "Yeah," he said. He leaned back and shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you, Annie. I loved her. I married her. I really thought that was it — we'd be together until the end of our lives." He let the thought hang there. He didn't think he would ever be past this part — the loss of what could have been. Even if he didn't want Jean back, even if he knew that part of his life was over, he had always wanted it to  _work_.

"That is what marriage is supposed to be about," Annie said quietly when he hadn't said anything for a while. "That doesn't surprise me, Scott. If you loved her enough to marry her, that's how it should have been."

Scott nodded slowly. "We… had this connection," he said, doing his best to  _explain_  it. "Jean was a telepath, but with us, it was more than that. I don't know how well I can explain it unless you've experienced it… it let us be part of each other…" He trailed off and looked up at her. "It'll never go away. It's completely one-sided now, but I know where it used to be in my mind."

Annie simply reached over and rested her hand on his. "I'm no telepath, but—"

"No, I — Annie, this is much better," Scott blurted out before she could finish the thought — and before he could even fully form the thought. He paused, suddenly unsure of where that had come from and how to explain it as Annie smiled warmly at him, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles as she waited for him. "I — with you, I like having my feet on the ground," he finally said, though it was almost inaudible for how quietly he said it.

Annie couldn't help but smile at him as she leaned over to steal a kiss. "You're very sweet," she told him quietly.

He smiled at her and stole a kiss in return. "I love you, Annie," he told her quietly without moving too far away from the kiss.

"I know that," Annie promised. "And I love you too. All of you." She brushed his hair away from his glasses. "I'm not jealous of her. I'm glad you had someone in your life." She smiled a bit wider. "After all, that would be an awful long time just to be waitin' on me."

Scott blinked at her for a moment before he couldn't quite control the grin. "I think you just called me old, Miss Hale."

"And what if I did?" she asked with one eyebrow raised, the smile tugging at her mouth in a clear invitation that had him laughing to himself as he pulled her into a rough kiss that had her laughing too.


	19. Two Worlds, One Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott meets the rest of Annie's family and begins to realize that this is something he wants for himself, for the rest of his life.

 

* * *

 

Annie's other sister and brother-in-law were nothing like Rachel and Anton.

Theresa was blonde and shorter than the other two women, sun-tanned instead of freckled, green-eyed instead of brown-eyed. Her husband was only a few inches taller than her, with reddish-brown hair and glasses. And their little boy, Aman, who they had adopted from Ethiopia, was still asleep on his dad's shoulder, a blue blanket clutched in one hand.

"You must be Scott," Theresa said with a smile that was a lot like Annie's, all warmth all the way up to her eyes as she grasped Scott's hand in both of hers to shake it. Her accent wasn't as pronounced as Annie's and Rachel's, though that might have been because, as Annie had said, she and her husband traveled often with the WHO. "Mom and Dad have told us a lot about you."

"And I've heard a lot about you," Scott said with a smile of his own.

"Oh no; what lies do I have to undo from my baby sister?" Theresa teased, shooting Annie a look of pretended alarm.

Annie waved her off. "Oh, you're fine," she said. "I only told him the good stuff."

"Oh, we're going to have to fix that," Theresa laughed before she simply wrapped Annie up in a huge hug. "How have you been?" she asked in a much more familiar tone than she'd been using with Scott — and that was all the invitation Annie needed to simply launch into talking about her Kindergarten class and then ask all about Aman and how work was going for her sister, that kind of thing.

Scott helped to take the luggage up to Annie's guest room, where the little family would be staying while Annie's parents were with Anton and Rachel, though Craig, Theresa's husband, didn't really say anything to him more than a polite 'hello' as they got Aman set up on the small portable bed.

Of course, as soon as Craig set Aman down, the little boy started to sleepily stir, and both men froze, trying to be as quiet as possible.

But it wasn't going to work. The little boy was definitely waking up, and he started to rub at his eyes as he held his hands up for his dad.

Craig let out a sigh and bent down to pick up the little guy, kissing the top of his head as Aman rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Come on, let's get you downstairs, little man," Craig said gently, tipping his head for Scott to lead the way. It was the most Scott had heard the guy say so far, and he had a sort of quiet voice that was the exact opposite of Anton's booming, confident one.

Aman made a few sort of tired noises as he hid in his dad's shoulder, shyly glancing up at Scott for a moment before he buried his face in his dad's shirt, though Scott didn't try to push him on it. He'd seen Annie's nieces right after naptime and had learned pretty fast that post-naptime meant that no one was happy for a while until the tiredness had worn off.

"So, you and Annie, huh?" Craig said as he sat down with Aman.

Scott leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and simply nodded. "She's something special," he told Craig honestly. "She helped to save my life, honestly."

"Sounds about right," Craig said with a small smile as he rubbed Aman's back while the little boy woke up. "How long you been dating?"

"Since the summer."

"And you're already moved in?" Craig looked a bit surprised as he turned Scott's way, and Scott couldn't help but wonder just how much the man had been told about… everything.

"It's a long story," Scott said. "Annie could probably tell it better."

"You mean she'll tell it longer," Craig said with a small smirk as he readjusted Aman and they headed downstairs.

"Well, I was unconscious when we first met, so no, I mean she knows the details better," Scott said, keeping a straight face, though he nearly smirked when he saw how quickly Craig's eyebrows shot up.

"Mom and Dad didn't mention that part," Craig said, shaking his head to himself.

"You'll have to ask Annie," Scott told him, already looking forward himself to hearing Annie tell the story. Scott always seemed to be in worse shape the more she told the story, so he was curious to know how close he was to death's door in this version of events, if he was honest.

Once the two of them joined Theresa and Annie, things were a lot louder as the girls got to talking and sharing stories. Just as Scott had suspected, Annie was sure to embellish the story of how they met, and by the time Rachel and Anton arrived with her parents, she had her sister and brother-in-law completely captivated by the story of Anton bringing home the bloody ex-X-Man.

Scott was honestly just enjoying himself leaning back and listening to the stories being traded back and forth — so much so that he didn't notice the little boy climbing up onto the couch beside him until Aman had already pulled himself up and was busily playing with his Avengers toys.

Scott glanced down at him but didn't bother the little guy as he continued his imaginary game, but when he looked back up at Annie's family, Annie had on a look that he'd never seen before, and Theresa looked downright shocked. "He never warms up to people that fast," Theresa said.

Scott looked down at Aman again and then shrugged lightly. "Pretty sure he just wanted the space on the couch," he said.

"Uh-huh." Annie stared at him for a moment before she shook her head and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "If you say so."

Scott shrugged a bit, though he couldn't quite hide the smirk the longer Aman sat next to him, contentedly playing with his toys. It probably helped that Scott didn't try to engage him in conversation or play with him — he just let Aman do his thing and listened to the Hale family exchanging stories back and forth.

He was perfectly content watching this family, too. The longer they talked with each other, the deeper their accents seemed to get, until Theresa and Craig sounded just as deep as Annie's parents did, trading barbs and laughter. They talked about their kids, their jobs, their memories — and it wasn't long before the girls were able to talk Douglas into telling a few war stories that had Scott leaning forward, honestly interested in hearing about it all.

Which was all well and good until one of Douglas's stories reminded Annie of something Scott had mentioned to her telling her about his family — when he'd mentioned that there were a few members of the X-Men who had gone on to do other things with their lives or had been at other jobs before they were with the X-Men. He might have mentioned that Wolverine had been a soldier, and apparently, Annie had remembered that.

"I'm sure you've got a few stories to tell," Douglas said.

"I'm sure you've heard most of them," Scott said, glancing down at Aman again to see that the little guy was watching him now that he was talking. He didn't want to break their semi-truce of silence; he really had been enjoying having the sweet, shy toddler curled up beside him on the couch. "It's not like we stayed out of the spotlight."

"No, but it's always different on the ground," Douglas said. "I was in Vietnam; you don't think I know that?"

Scott looked around the room and realized that most of the group was sitting there in obvious expectation, so he let his shoulders drop and let out his breath. "It's just that I've been — or, I was an X-Man since I was a teenager. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Why don't you tell them about when you met Iceman?" Annie prompted with a little smile. And Scott was sure she'd done it on purpose, because Leslie Ann's head popped right up at the mention of her favorite X-Man, and she simply scrambled over to climb into Scott's lap.

"Can we hear X-Man stories  _please_?" Leslie Ann asked, her eyes as wide as she could get them.

Scott couldn't really stand up to the wide-eyed look, and he let his shoulders relax as he nodded — which prompted Leslie Ann to shift and make herself comfortable, pulling her stuffed elephant into her lap as she looked up at Scott expectantly.

"We were both just kids," Scott said at last, getting a huge grin out of Leslie Ann as Annie looked pleased with herself and leaned back with her head on his shoulder and a look that spelled so much trouble now that she'd roped him into the conversation with the rest of the family. "He'd barely gotten his powers and didn't know what was happening, and it was the first time I'd ever tried to do any kind of outreach. So, we didn't exactly start off on the best foot."

Scott paused as he looked down at Leslie Ann and then over at Anton. He'd told  _Annie_ about breaking Bobby out of jail and about the rest of it, but with a police officer in the room and a tiny little girl, neither of those things seemed appropriate. "We ended up fighting each other, but we got on the same side when some people showed up trying to hunt us down for being mutants, and Professor Xavier ended up getting there just in time to save us and get us to the institute."

"That sounds really scary," Leslie Ann said, leaning back so that she was looking at him upside down. "Were you scared, Uncle Scott?"

He didn't see any sense in lying to her, so he nodded lightly. "Yeah, I was."

"Well, you shouldn't'a been, because you had  _Iceman_ with you," she insisted, breaking into a grin. "I'm gonna be just like that when I grow up!"

"I'm sure you will," Scott said, more than happy to lean over and rest his head on Annie's as Leslie Ann regaled the group of them with stories about how she was going to be a superhero when she grew up, "just like Uncle Scott!"

Of course, now that Scott had shown that he was willing to get roped into the conversation, he wasn't entirely off the hook. When the stories started back up, he now seemed to be expected to contribute as Douglas would put in his war stories, Anton would talk about his time on the force — even Craig had a few things to share about traveling the world with the WHO.

Not that the Hale women were staying out of the conversation, either. Evelyn in particular talked candidly about what it was like waiting for Douglas to come back to her during the war — when she had been newly married and had just given birth to Rachel.

The way Evelyn told it, it had been a time that tested the strength of her family bonds, as her brothers helped to take care of her.

But it startled Scott, because it had him thinking about Annie, about what things would be like for her if he did go back, if he was an X-Man again.

And all of a sudden, he realized he couldn't do that to her. He couldn't ask her to be waiting when he was going out and fighting the likes of Magneto, when he had the Hellfire Club and the Brotherhood and what seemed like the entire world breathing down his neck just waiting for him to make a mistake.

A mistake like Annie.

It had his breath caught in his chest the more he thought about it. How many times did he have to be reminded of it? Every time he started a family, it was used against him, torn away from him. He brought destruction down on everyone that was close to him.

He couldn't do that to Annie. He couldn't bring that down on her head. She had a  _good life_  here.

He couldn't do that to her.

And yet… he couldn't leave her either. He knew that much, too. He knew that every day that he spent with Annie felt  _right_ , like they just worked in a way that he hadn't felt since Jean. She didn't need to know his thoughts to understand him, and he didn't need that connection to be able to read her.

He knew, for example, that Annie had picked up on the fact that he was lost in his thoughts when she picked up her head off his shoulder, frowned at him for a moment, and pressed a kiss to the very edge of his jaw.

"What're you thinkin' about?" she whispered in a lazy sort of drawl, her accent deeper with how much time she'd spent with her family.

He looked her way, took in a breath, and held it. "You," he said at last, giving her a small smile at the very corner of his mouth that couldn't help but grow when he saw the pleased little grin in her own expression.

"Good things, I hope."

"Yeah, definitely," he said, nodding lightly.

"Oh good." She set her head back down on his shoulder as the conversation around them turned lazier, drawled out stories going longer and more lighthearted as the fire crackled in the background.

* * *

Scott found himself spending more time with tiny Aman than doing anything else for most of Annie's family's Christmas visit. The little boy would studiously, meticulously play with his blocks or his toys and occasionally hand one to Scott so that he could be part of the playing, but he rarely spoke more than to talk to his parents.

And honestly, that was what Scott needed at the moment.

It wasn't that he necessarily wanted to avoid the rest of the group — and it wasn't a conscious decision, at any rate. It was just that Aman was quiet, and Scott had found himself thinking hard as he considered things.

All of the stories he'd been telling Annie recently, about home, about his team… he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it. He did. It had only been a few months and already, he caught himself thinking while he was shelving books that this  _wasn't_ what he wanted.

He could feel the dream in his bones, and as much as he tried to push it back down, it kept bubbling back up to the surface.

But listening to Evelyn talk about how hard it had been when Douglas was fighting in Vietnam, there was something else, something stronger, and it was louder than the dream pounding in his teeth.

He loved Annie.

He'd told her as much, of course, said it enough times that he hoped she knew how much he meant it. But it was more than that, when he said it now.

He  _needed_ Annie.

He recognized the feeling, because it had been the same way with Jean — the way she got under his skin until he didn't feel entirely whole thinking about himself as a separate person. It wasn't  _quite_ the same without the telepathic connection, and yet it was exactly the same, somehow, at the same time.

He didn't know how to explain it. He wasn't even sure he understood it. But he knew what it was, and he knew what it meant — that he couldn't live without her in his life.

He wanted to give her a life away from the X-Men, away from the worry and the fear that Evelyn talked about. She deserved it. If that meant hanging up the visor for good and shelving books, he was fine with that.

At least, that's what he thought.

He was struggling still to reconcile the two aches that sat in the space between his breaths. He missed the X-Men, but he loved Annie. And besides, he couldn't go back to them. He'd messed things up too badly. But he wasn't settling by staying with Annie, either; she wasn't a consolation prize.

"Uncle Scott," a tiny voice prompted him, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see that Aman was holding out one of his toys — he'd completely missed it while he was so distracted.

"Thanks, bud," Scott said with a small smile as he took the toy, unable to stop the smile when Aman gave him a huge grin and went back to playing with his toys.

"And miracles never cease," Evelyn said, her voice full of pure amusement as she sat down beside Scott.

Scott shook his head. "He's a smart kid," he said, gesturing to the quietly playing toddler. "He's just shy."

"Yes, I know that. I'm his grandmother," Evelyn said, her eyes twinkling the way Annie's always did when Scott did something that she found particularly endearing. "But you have to admit that he's warmed up to you so well, even in this short time."

Scott couldn't help but smile at her as he nodded. "He just wants quiet."

Evelyn smiled at her before she reached over to squeeze his arm. "I'm so glad Annie brought you into our family," she said with a soft smile.

Scott was glad for the glasses that hid his surprise, and he managed a little smile her way. "Me too," he ended up saying — surprising himself.

He shook his head to himself as he watched Evelyn lead Aman off so that his parents could put him down for a nap. He was getting in deep now, and he knew it.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Yeah, he knew where this was going. He just hadn't expected it to get there quite this fast. Not that he didn't want…

He nodded to himself. Right. He knew what he needed to do next. And, conveniently, Annie's father was right there in town for a few more days after Christmas.


	20. Epilogue: New Year, New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the final chapter of this love story, Scott finally Does the Thing.

 

* * *

The problem currently facing Scott was that he was sure if he pulled Douglas aside for any reason whatsoever, the entire Hale clan was going to figure out his plans — and want to get in on them.

They were wonderful people, and he did honestly enjoy spending time with them, but he didn't want to have to go five rounds with Rachel and Theresa on when and where he was going to propose — and that was all assuming that Douglas gave his permission.

After all, Scott knew who he was. He knew that Douglas knew what kind of life Scott would be asking Annie to live, even if he never went back to the X-Men. That shadow was going to follow him for the rest of his life; they'd already seen it in that little town.

And listening to Evelyn talk about being an Army wife, listening to Rachel talk about her worry when Anton had to respond to violent calls on the force… he knew that Douglas knew  _exactly_ what that life did to families. There was every chance he would say no.

And Scott respected Annie's family too much to do this without their permission.

But the perfect opportunity presented itself just before New Year's Eve. Anton had to work — because, as people partied on New Year's Eve, they tended to make stupid decisions, and someone had to make sure that stayed contained — and Evelyn had taken all of the girls, even Leslie Ann and Mary Beth, out for some time with her daughters.

And when Craig went upstairs to put Aman down for a nap, Scott seized the rare opportunity for a moment alone with Douglas that he didn't have to  _ask_ for. After all, it might never happen again.

"I wonder if I could have a word," he said in a low tone to Douglas.

The older man turned toward Scott with a slow smile but didn't say anything outright, simply gesturing for Scott to go ahead and speak his mind.

Scott nodded to himself and cleared his throat once, sitting up a little straighter. He had faced down supervillains and armies of aliens in his time, but this kind of thing… it never got easier, even if he'd already done it before.

He took a deep breath and held it for a long moment before, finally, he let it out again.  _Just do it,_ he told himself an instant before he said, "I wanted to ask your permission to marry your daughter."

For an instant, Scott could feel the bottom drop out of his stomach. Saying it out loud… he couldn't take it back now. He couldn't delay, couldn't put it off — it was out there now, and no matter what Douglas's reaction would be, their relationship had shifted.

Scott hadn't realized he was holding his breath until he needed to  _breathe_ as he watched Douglas slowly nodding. But that didn't stop the second his heart skipped a beat as Douglas leaned forward, looking as serious as Scott had ever seen him.

"You gonna treat her right?" he asked in a slow drawl, looking right at Scott to hold his gaze as much as it was possible to do with the glasses in the way.

Scott wished that Douglas could see the fact that he was serious, that he was holding his gaze as he nodded. "Absolutely."

"You gonna keep her safe?"

"Yes, of course," Scott said. "I won't let what I used to be touch her."

Douglas paused at that as he looked Scott over with slightly narrowed eyes. He leaned forward, his hands clasped together. "Course it will," he said. "You're askin' her to marry you; you don't get to say what part of you she's marryin'."

Scott froze for an instant and then shook his head. "That doesn't change anything," he insisted. "I won't let it touch her. She deserves the life she's built for herself, and I won't ruin that."

Douglas let out a breath, but Scott couldn't tell what his expression meant for a long moment. "You gonna be good to my grandkids?" he asked at last, changing the subject slightly, though Scott still didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

"Of course," Scott said. "They're great kids."

That got a sort of unreadable smirk out of Douglas before he simply held his hand out to Scott. "Well, then, welcome to the family," he said.

Scott felt the relief drip off his shoulders as he reached out to take Douglas's hand. "Thank you."

Douglas's smile only seemed to get wider as the handshake went on before he clapped his other hand on Scott's shoulder. "So," he said, still smiling, "when're you gonna ask her?"

"I'm not sure yet," Scott admitted. "I wanted to get your permission first."

Douglas nodded at that. "Smart man," he said.

"I want to do it right, not spur of the moment," Scott explained further. He wanted to be sure that Douglas understood that — so that he wasn't going to be waiting with baited breath when Scott didn't even have any plans for how he wanted to propose, hadn't even looked at rings, didn't even know Annie's size.

"Long as you do right by her," Douglas said. He pushed off of Scott's shoulder as he stood up and then pulled Scott with him to wrap him in a solid hug. "You treat her right, Scott. She thinks the world of you."

"Yes, sir," he said, because there really was no other response to that.

Thankfully, it wasn't too long after that before the girls came back, and the quiet that had descended on the house instantly burst with their arrival. The three Hale sisters were all chatting back and forth with each other, and Theresa had Mary Beth balanced on her hip playing with her necklace and gnawing on the big beads.

"You boys miss us while we were gone?" Theresa called out to Craig, who was only just coming back down the stairs from wrestling a tired Aman to sleep — it looked like he had also fallen asleep himself in the process of putting Aman down, if the slightly ruffled look was anything to go by.

"Of course," Craig said as he crossed the space to wrap his wife up in a hug and kiss her and then Mary Beth on the forehead.

Rachel and Evelyn had one of Leslie Ann's hands apiece and were swinging her between them, but she broke away when she saw Douglas and rushed over to show him her new mittens, which had a yellow and blue pattern on them.

"Look, look!" she said, all but shoving her hands in Douglas' face to show them off. "I'm an X-Man, see? See? I'm Wolverine!" She did her very best impression of a growl and then attempted to shadowbox, and Douglas simply broke into a hearty laugh as he watched her.

"She just  _had_ to have them when she saw them," Rachel explained, her eyes twinkling as she looked Scott's way.

He couldn't help but smirk. "I bet you'll be a better X-Man than even Wolverine when you get bigger," he told Leslie Ann.

Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes went wide as she stared at Scott before she broke into a delighted laugh and launched herself out of Douglas's lap to practically climb Scott. "Do you mean it? Really? Huh?"

Scott couldn't help but laugh at the insistent little girl. "Oh, absolutely," he said. "I think you can do anything you decide to do, Leslie Ann."

"Oh wow!" She grinned up at him before she flung her arms around his neck in a solid hug. "I wanna be just like you when I grow up, Uncle Scott!"

Scott didn't think that was entirely accurate, but she was young enough that he wasn't going to burst her bubble, so he simply pulled her into a serious snuggle and then booped her on the nose. "I'm sure you'll take the world by storm."

Leslie Ann giggled delightedly before she rushed off to go play with her toys, with Rachel not far behind her trying to remind her that she needed to be quiet while her cousin was still taking his nap.

Annie couldn't quite hide the laughter in her eyes as she slid up to Scott and pulled her arm around his waist, and he rested his around her shoulders. "She really does adore you," she said, smiling up at Scott.

"You've got a great family, Annie," he told her, leaning down to steal a kiss.

"I really do," she agreed, shifting the way she was standing so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and stand on her toes for a slightly more involved kiss.

* * *

Annie's family left in the same whirlwind of activity that they had arrived in. There were plenty of hugs and kisses all around — though by far the best was when Mary Beth grabbed Aman in the tightest baby snuggle she could manage and simply refused to let go until Aman finally snuggled her back just as tightly. And from there, it was a lot of trying to negotiate with two babies that didn't want to move.

The Hales were still somehow able to leave in time to make their flight back to Atlanta, though — and then, all of a sudden, the house seemed much quieter.

There was a fire going in the fireplace, and Annie was back in the kitchen making stew out of the mountain of leftovers that the Hale clan had left behind, but Scott was sitting at the table looking over, of all things, house listings.

He had never done anything like this before, and it had taken a while to figure out the different sites, but after the first few searches, it was straightforward. There was criteria that he could check off that he could compare easily. Commute times. School districts — that one was most important, because he knew Annie would never leave her kids.

But he also knew that Annie had said, several times, during her family's visit that she would love to be able to move into something bigger, have her own family, and be able to host big groups without feeling so crowded.

And Scott figured, well, if he was going to ask her to marry him and make that life change, then he wanted to do something to make it special, different to all of the days that they'd spent together in this little townhome.

He was getting to the point where he could recognize some of the songs Annie was humming as she worked — this one was "Waiting on a Woman" — and he looked up when he heard her stop humming in time to see her headed over that way.

"What's got your attention, Mr. Summers?" she asked with a smile, leaning over his shoulder and letting her hands run down his chest.

"Nothing," he said smoothly. He had managed to get the tab to show that he was balancing the checkbook, the house project in another window.

She shook her head and kissed his cheek and went back to what she was doing, and Scott couldn't help but smile to himself. It had always been so hard to pull off a surprise before — but Annie was no telepath. And she was a lot more trusting than Emma had been.

He smirked as he went back to what he was doing. He checked the finances, checked the home listing…

He nodded and closed the laptop just as Annie was finishing up. Yes, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

* * *

It was nearly March by the time Scott had found a bank and a realtor that would work with him in spite of his  _background_  — a phrase he'd heard so many times that it was getting old — but he had finally set up a showing. And under the pretense of taking Annie out on a surprise date, he drove them to the house so that Annie could see it.

It was exactly the kind of thing that fit Annie. The neighborhood looked like it could have come out of a Christmas catalogue, and in the March snow, it really did resemble a postcard.

Annie blinked around the neighborhood when Scott pulled into the driveway and then turned to Scott with her nose scrunched up and an obviously confused look on her face. "What are we doing here?" she asked.

"Well," Scott said, trying and failing to contain the smile over how well his surprise had gone, "You said you wanted a bigger house so that you could host more holidays and raise a family."

"I… did," Annie said, blinking at him in surprise before she let out an affectionate sort of laugh. "Oh, you — you big softie. I didn't mean right  _now_!"

Scott grinned at her as he got out of the car and walked around to open her passenger side door so he could offer his hand to help her out. "Why not now?" he asked.

"Well, I…" Annie trailed off and shook her head when she saw the huge grin that Scott simply couldn't stow. "What are you up to, Scott?"

He couldn't help but grin at her as he brought her to the door and then took both of her hands in his. "Well, I thought that it would be nice to have someplace to move into and start a family." He paused as he took in the way Annie was staring at him, her lips parted as the grin overtook her. He couldn't stop grinning himself as he knelt in the snow. "That is, if you'd marry me."

She stared at him for a long time, but she was grinning — that had to be a good sign—

And then she simply tackled him into the snow and all but shouted out "YES!" before she simply kissed the sense out of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: And thus we get to the end of Scott and Annie's courtship in Alaska. This puts Scott where we met him in Volume Three of the Marvel 714 Universe, if you want to see more of Scott and Annie in action. It's a collaborative universe that Canucklehead Cowgirl and I have written together, and I've marked this story as part of that universe.
> 
> Otherwise, this is where I leave our darling couple: with both of them happy and engaged and basically the cutest people in existence. I love them to itty bitty pieces, I really, really do.


End file.
